After the Fall
by sashay
Summary: RENT. Mark/Mimi. COMPLETED 10/9/02.
1. 1

Authors Notes, 7/19/02: Well, this beast has been rewritten, revised, and restructured. What was once part one has been broken up, and there's nothing truly new until Part 2. HUGE thanks to Lola. Without her help (and constant nagging...:P), this never would have been finished. And Dulcey? Thanks for pushing me to get this posted. I want more Crashing Down now. :)  
  
Hang on, guys. It gets angsty from here.   
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. They're all property of Jonathan Larson.   
  
**  
After the Fall  
by sashay  
**  
  
  
[Mimi]  
  
Cold. Cold. Cold.  
  
How was it that I could be cold in jeans and a sweatshirt, with three blankets and Roger wrapped around me?  
  
In the end, it didn't matter. This cold was different-wholly consuming, eating me alive. I'd never been cold like this before. My teeth chattered so hard I thought they would shatter, leaving me with nothing but a mouthful of sharp, jagged fragments of white.   
  
Roger hugged me tighter, seemingly trying to will my body to stop shaking, and whispered something I wish I could have heard into my ear. All I felt was the wet warmth of his breath, and his mouth pressed against my ear. The pain was blinding, searing, and was occupying not just my head, like earlier, but my entire body. Tears began to stream freely down my cheeks; I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this helpless. I was tough, damnit. I was Mimi Marquez: exotic dancer, HIV positive, independent single girl in New York trying to make a living while doing a little living. I rarely cried in front of people. Now it seemed that all I was capable of were tears.  
  
"Shhh....baby, its okay. You'll be alright, you'll get through this," Roger's voice finally faded in through the gauzy veil over my senses. I could hear him crooning in my ear. I struggled to focus on his voice.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity later, the pain finally started to recede. I let out a slow, shaky breath and let myself free fall into unconsciousness.  
  
**  
  
[Roger]  
  
Not even a full minute after Mimi had finally fallen asleep I bolted to the bathroom, slammed the door shut, and turned on the water. Fierce, choking sobs knocked me first to my knees, then flat onto the floor; my face pressed into the grungy, gunky blue bathmat, and on any other day I would have been repulsed. Instead, I was reminded of many nights spent the same way in various bathrooms across the city back about five years ago, and that made me cry even harder. I cried for April, for Mimi, and for myself. For Angel and everyone our strange little family had lost along the way. For Mark, who had fought so hard to keep me among the living when I wanted to be anywhere else. For all of the mistakes I had made, and all of the wasted time.   
  
Mostly though, I cried for Mimi.  
  
Twenty minutes later, I picked myself up off of the floor and managed to make my way out into the living room, collapsing onto Mimi's sofa. It was soft-too soft-and normally I hated this piece of furniture with a passion, but at that moment I didn't have the energy to care. She had been sleeping back in her bedroom after the latest-and worst-bout of chills and tremors had finally subsided. My eyes burned from the tears, but I made myself focus on Mimi. Withdrawal was a bitch unlike anything I had ever experienced before or since. Now, by whatever kind of twisted luck happened to strike me, I had lived through it twice. First with myself, Mark taking care of me after April's suicide. I hadn't wanted to live, but he had forced me to. Now, thinking of the woman asleep only feet away in the other room, I was so thankful he had made me wake up every morning, eat, sleep, and take my AZT. I know without a doubt that I wouldn't be here if Mark hadn't loved me enough to take care of me.  
  
Seeing Mimi in this much pain was slowly tearing me apart, piece-by-piece. As horrific as I knew what she was going through was, I would have taken her place in an instant if it would mean that she would be spared all of this. She was undoubtedly the love of my rather unsuccessful, nothing life, and I didn't even want to think about what might happen if I lost her. Each scream, gasp of pain, and shudder tore a chunk out of me and tossed it carelessly aside until I didn't think I could take any more. Each time, it would eventually end and she would drift, mostly peacefully, into a deep sleep. Meanwhile, I'd find myself collapsed in the bathroom sobbing uncontrollably until I was so spent I could barely stand, like earlier tonight. This had been going on for the past six days. As endearing as she might find that particular display, I really hope she never finds out I did that. I do have certain masculine standards to live up to and manly men don't collapse sobbing on the floor.  
  
"Rog? Are you in there?" Mimi's soft, breathy voice floated out into the living room where I'd been unsuccessfully trying to doze for the last few minutes.  
  
"Yeah, I'm just out on the couch," I called back to her. I grabbed a worn green chenille throw pillow off the couch and hugged it to my chest. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Mimi quirked an eyebrow. "Like shit."  
  
"I figured," I said, grateful the past six days hadn't seemed to damage her sense of humor. Setting the pillow to the side, I sat up, resting my forearms on my thighs. I stared at the gritty wood floor, memorizing the cracks and almost invisible grain in its worn surface. "Anything I can do?"  
  
Mimi strolled over to the couch, and I raised my face to meet her eyes. Their dark irises met mine without fear, without reservation. Her eyes, I thought fondly. Just one glance at them and I was gone, a captive man.  
  
"Just hold me, Roger," she whispered.  
  
I smiled softly and pulled her to me. Laying us back on the battered sofa, I sighed content for a short moment. It wasn't paradise, I realized, as Mimi laid her head down on my chest. But it was something. In the end, it was probably everything.  
  
I felt a slight puff of air as Mimi chuckled against my chest.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Its too quiet in here," she replied. "You can even hear that damned clock ticking." I glanced over at the black and white cat clock, with its swinging tail and moving eyes. I'd always found that clock particularly creepy.   
  
"Good point," I noted, wisely choosing not to bring up her lack of interior design skills.  
  
"Talk," Mimi implored. "About anything."  
  
I hummed softly into her curly hair, trying to come up with 'anything'. Why was it that the broadest topics were always the most challenging? Anything left too many things open, too much to chance. I stroked her back through the thin fabric of my grey sweatshirt that she had claimed weeks ago and tried to buy some time.  
  
"Where's your guitar, Rog?" she asked.   
  
I paused, startled. Since moving down here to help Mimi out, I'd barely even thought about my guitar. "Up at the loft," I finally answered.  
  
"You should get it later," she murmured, nuzzling my neck. "I miss hearing you play."  
  
I nodded against her hair, where it was pulled into a messy, puffy ponytail.   
  
After a few minutes, "Did you ever want kids?" I asked.  
  
Mimi lifted her head off my chest, looking down at me oddly. She seemed almost amused, her eyebrows knit together and lips pulled into a smirk. Of course, I suppose it was a rather odd question, especially coming from me. "Yeah," she began, settling back on my chest. I tangled a hand in her hair and waited for her to continue. "A little girl," she sighed. "I wanted to spoil her rotten and braid her hair and tie her shoes. All the things my mom did for me that I never really appreciated."  
  
"You had it all figured out," I grinned.  
  
Mimi snorted. "Hardly. Why did you want to know?"  
  
"No reason," I replied. In truth, I wasn't entirely sure where it had come from. I imagined I could see her mind turning, wondering whether to press the subject or not. Her eyes finally settled back on mine and I mentally sighed with relief. She'd moved on.  
  
"Did you?" she asked.  
  
"No," I replied immediately, noting how her face fell at my answer. "I never thought I'd want them. Too much responsibility. I mean, I can barely take care of myself."  
  
Mimi instinctively tightened her thin arms around me. She was amazing; always seemed to know someone needed just a little more support to make it through whatever it was had happened to them. "But?" she prodded. That was the other part of Mimi. Sure, she'd build you up. But in the end she was also going to get whatever she wanted out of you.  
  
"Then I met you," I replied, kissing her temple gently. "And my opinion changed."  
  
Mimi laughed. "You suddenly think you can take care of yourself?"  
  
"No!" I answered, feigning indignation. Smiling, I poked her in the ribs. I suddenly wished I wasn't quite so able to feel them through my sweatshirt-her sides were beginning to resemble a washboard. Mimi still had a long way to go, I realized.  
  
She yawned. "Fate sure has a lousy sense of timing."  
  
For lack of a better response, I tightened my arms around her waist. Mimi simply took my hand in hers, and entwined our fingers. She squeezed my hand briefly.   
  
"Love you," I whispered. She smiled softly in response and after a minute I felt her breathing even out. "Sleep, Mimi," I murmured, closing my eyes and allowing unconsciousness to claim me.  
  
**  
  
[Mimi]  
I awoke to Roger's arms wrapped tightly around my waist and the solid warmth of his chest was pressed up against my back. I sighed. The omnipresent headache of the past few days was back, and I knew the cravings, tremors, and all of the other wonderful symptoms of heroin withdrawal would soon follow. It would be so easy to disentangle myself from him and slip out the front door. Looking across the room, I spotted his battered brown leather wallet on the small table near the door where he had thrown it down days ago. I knew he didn't have much money, but it would probably be enough to buy a fix.   
  
Despite the heat radiating off of Roger, I began to shiver again and pulled an afghan off the back of the sofa. My grandma had made the blanket for me when I turned 16. It was a deep crimson color-my favorite. God, my family would be so ashamed if they saw me now. While I'd been raised as a good Catholic girl, I was currently huddling on a couch that should have been condemned ten years ago with a man I wasn't married to, craving heroin so badly I wanted to cry. I glanced over my shoulder at Roger. He was deeply asleep, his mouth open slightly and his goofy yellow-blonde hair sticking in every direction. He didn't look particularly attractive at that moment, but God, I loved him.  
  
I gently pried myself from his arms and stood up, wrapping the afghan around my shoulders more tightly. I needed to walk. Somewhere, anywhere. I settled for pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table, attempting to think of anything other than the lancing pain that was currently shooting through my head. I didn't get far. After a minute or two I ended up against the wall, my fingers scrabbling for a grasp of something as the tremors became too much and my knees gave out. I slid down the rough stucco wall and ended up sitting on the dusty, splinter-ridden wood floor, my knees pulled tightly against my chest. Huge, gasping sobs wracked my body; partially from pain, and partially from exhaustion. I was so tired of fighting. Between HIV and withdrawal, life barely seemed worth living anymore.  
  
"Mim?"   
  
Roger's bleached head stuck up from over on the couch. He looked around the room, slightly confused and obviously not fully awake.   
  
"Oh God," he muttered, and was by my side in an instant. I had to admit, the man could be quite selfless when he wanted to be, despite his self-destructive, self-centered tendencies. "Baby, are you okay?"  
  
I shook my head violently as tears cascaded down my cheeks. "Please Roger," I started, then curled into a tighter ball pressing my forehead down to my knees. I was too ashamed to even finish my own sentence.  
  
"Please what?" he asked, his voice raising to a near panic level. Up until this point, I hadn't asked for anything much. I'd cried, hurt, and generally taken out whatever I was feeling on him, but I'd yet to beg. "You know I'll do anything for you,"  
  
"I need..." I pleaded with my eyes for him to understand.   
  
"No," he replied, his voice firm yet gentle. "Anything but that."  
  
"But,"  
  
"No," he repeated.  
  
I had one last card to play. "If you love me..."  
  
He sighed, running a hand through the messy bleach blonde curls on his head. "I do love you. You know that. And that's exactly why I won't let you."  
  
"Oh fuck you, Roger," I snapped, tugging the afghan tighter around my shoulders. "You don't love anyone but yourself."  
  
"Mimi..."  
  
"No. I feel like hell, you know that Roger? And you won't give me the one thing that'll make me feel better. So fuck you. I don't need you, and I certainly don't love you."   
  
Putting my hands on the floor, I tried to push myself up to my feet. A sharp stab of pain shot through my hand and I gasped. A jagged piece of wood bigger than a splinter and only slightly smaller than a small stick had embedded itself in my palm.  
  
"Stupid fucking apartment!" I screamed, finally succeeding in pulling myself to my feet. I made it two steps before falling again. This time, however, the wall wasn't there to catch me. The last thing I remember is my head making contact with the floor, then more darkness.  
  
**  
  
Reviews make my day. :) 


	2. 2

A/N 7/21/02: Sigh. The end of this chapter has been edited a bit. Its not much, but it does change a couple of things in the long run. You might want to reread it before moving along to part three. Sorry about that-this thing has a mind of its own.  
  
Thanks everyone! And, as always, reviews are appreciated.  
  
**  
  
[Roger]  
  
"Mimi!"   
  
One moment, her slight form was glaring at me, stalking angrily away, then suddenly she's falling, falling, falling. The dull thud of her head on the wood floor reverberated in my mind. I scrambled over to her side, my hands frantically pushing aside her thick curls to find a pulse.   
  
"God, Mimi...." I whispered. Her pulse was strong, and she didn't seem to be too badly hurt. I noticed the chunk of wood in her tiny palm that caused her last outburst. Shaking my head, I gathered her into my arms and carried her into the bedroom trying to ignore how light she was. Mimi was small to begin with, but she couldn't weigh more than 90 pounds now. I knocked aside random clothes and pieces of paper to clear a place for her on the bed. Sirens wailed outside her open bedroom window while I tore apart her bathroom searching for tweezers to try to fix her hand before she woke up. I settled back on to the bed with a crinkle, pulled a piece of paper out from under my ass, and began my impromptu surgery.   
  
After a few minutes, I sighed with relief. There was a reason I never wanted to become a doctor. I hate seeing anything injured or in pain. I remember a few months ago Mark and I were out walking in Central Park on a sunny, breezy weekday afternoon. He had decided it was perfect filming weather (though I'd yet to seem him declare something much less than perfect for filming. Ever the optimist, our Mark), so we were out walking. The usual tourists were out, but it was early so the park was a bit more deserted than usual. We came across a place where the path bent and three huge willow trees shaded everything. Under a bench we spotted a bird with a broken wing hopping along helplessly, crying out for help with every ineffectual flap of its broken wing. Mark, of course, whipped out his camera and started filming. For someone with such a huge heart, Mark was able to look at most anything with a detached gaze...this is one of the things that has always amazed me about him. I, however, had to walk on by and try to push the bird out of my mind. I met up with Mark a bit later on a park bench where I had been trying to pick out something meaningful on my guitar (as usual, I hadn't gotten very far). Mark kept calling the bird 'beautiful' for the rest of the day, amazed that he was able to find such a great shot. I don't know about most people, but I've never been able to find anything beautiful about death or suffering. Maybe it stems from a difference in viewpoint, but I can't tolerate seeing something in pain.   
  
Mimi's suffering was just about killing me. As difficult as my own withdrawal had been, it was nothing compared to watching it through the eyes of another. I would never tell her this, but I was so close to going out to find 'the man', as we had so dubbed him in a fit of post-sex giggles, and buying her anything I could wheedle out of him with what little money I had in my wallet. Anything to take her suffering away. I was strong enough to give up my decade long drug addiction, but I wasn't strong enough to help my girlfriend get through hers.   
  
I needed help. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was out the door.  
  
**  
  
[Mark]  
  
The door to the loft slammed shut, causing me to jump. I pushed my glasses back up my nose and looked up from my spot in the back bedroom where I was surrounded by hundreds of reels of film, attempting to cut something coherent together.  
  
"Hey Mark...you in here?" Roger called, his heavy footfall echoing across the loft.   
  
"Yeah!" I shouted. "Back room."  
  
"Sounds seedy," Roger grinned.  
  
I laughed, smiling back at him. "So hows it going?" I asked. After a bad night at the club, Mimi had gone to him and asked for his help. Naturally, all of us were thrilled with her change of heart. But this had been six days ago and no one had heard from either of them until now.  
  
I looked up at Roger. His usually bright blue eyes were dull and lifeless, heavy dark smudges under each of them. He looked exhausted. It was clear the past week had not been kind to him. "You're not wearing shoes," I observed, looking down at his bare, dusty feet. I couldn't believe he'd run up five nasty flights of stairs without shoes. In this building.   
  
Roger glanced down at his feet, seeming genuinely surprised. "Oh."  
  
"You okay, man?" I had to ask.  
  
He shook his head. "No. No I'm not." His shoulders slumped forward, and his head dropped towards his chest. He was more than simply tired, I realized. He looked defeated. I'd known Roger for years and I don't think I had ever seen his look this dead.  
  
God, what a horrible choice of words.  
  
"Mimi," I began. "Is she okay?"  
  
"Yeah, shes fine I guess. I mean, shes tired and bitchy. She can't eat, she has the shakes...headaches," he sighed, coming to sit next to me on the worn black futon we kept back in the so-called 'film room'. I nodded in understanding. There was something infinitely fucked up about our collective knowledge of the finer points of heroin withdrawal, I noted sadly.  
  
"I can't do this, Mark," he said. His eyes sought me out, begging me to understand. "I can't watch her...hurt like that."  
  
My eyes fluttered closed and I sighed deeply. Roger had an artist's soul, Collins had said late one night after some heavy drinking. He was slightly troubled and felt things twice as deeply as the rest of us. I had always known this, but at times it his sensitivity still blindsided me.  
  
"Where is she now?"  
  
"Shes downstairs," he replied.  
  
"Alone?!" I asked, incredulous.  
  
"Christ, Mark, shes sleeping! I just came up here to grab my guitar," Roger snapped. "She was sitting there screaming at me, went to get up and fell. She hit her head. She's fine. I only came up here for a minute anyway." He stood up angrily and went to storm out of the room in a classic, clichéd Roger manner.  
  
"Rog?"  
  
He stopped, turning abruptly. "Yeah?"  
  
"Did you need to talk?"  
  
Roger shook his head. "I've got to go." I nodded, turning back to my film. Images of the past year flickered by frame by frame on the small black and white television we had set up in the room.  
  
"Mark?"  
  
"Yeah Rog?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
I turned to stare at him, my eyes narrowing. "What?"  
  
"For taking care of me. I know I never thanked you, and well, I know I wouldn't be here if you hadn't done...what you did. God, I owe you everything," Roger stammered softly. He ran his hands through his hair.  
  
I stood and went over to embrace him. "Don't even worry about it, man. We're friends. You don't owe me a thing." Roger sniffled, and I could feel his hot tears as they fell onto my sweater. His entire body began to quake with giant sobs.  
  
"I just...don't think I can do it, Mark," he gasped, his face still pressed into my shoulder. He looked up at me with warm, wet eyes. "How did you do it?"  
  
I forced a small smile, more for my own sake than his. I knew he could see right through it. "I had to keep believing that no matter how angry you were, I was doing the right thing. That's all you can do, Rog. Just keep believing. In Mimi, and in yourself. She loves you."  
  
"But the things she said to me, Mark."  
  
I had to laugh at this. "Do you even remember half of what you said to me?"  
  
He chuckled. "You do have a point." Roger paused, looking pensive. "I-"  
  
I finished for him. "You need to go check on that beautiful girlfriend of yours. I bet she'll be waking up soon," I grinned, already turning back to my film.   
  
"I'll see you later, then," Roger called, halfway out the door.  
  
A shot from Christmas last year showed up on the screen. Mimi and Roger were looking deeply into each other eyes, seemingly oblivious to the outside world as the rest of our ragtag family carried on quite the rowdy conversation in a blurry, surreal backdrop.   
  
They'd make it, I decided. Meanwhile, I had a film to finish.  
  
**  
  
[Mimi]  
  
The door to my apartment slammed; it had to be Roger. God love him, but he never was much on doing things quietly. I sat up in bed gingerly, testing how my head was going to react to being in a vertical position. Not too bad, I decided, swinging my legs over the side and standing up. No major harm done. It wasn't like you could really add to my headache, anyway.  
  
"I'm in here, Roger," I called out to him, moving to the closet and picking up a pair of cut off jean shorts off of the floor. I quickly pulled off my jeans, and slid the shorts up my legs. My body's thermometer was so whacked out-I was hot now. Figures.  
  
"Did you take your AZT?" he asked, already in my room with two of the aforementioned little white pills and a glass of water. Wordlessly, he handed one to me, and waited until I had drank about half of the water. He took the glass back and swallowed the other pill himself, draining the rest of the glass. He turned and headed back into the kitchen, refilling the glass and setting it on the small table next to my bed.  
God. Was this how we were going to spend the rest of our life? Lining up pills on the kitchen counter and counting our days until the end? Of course, what really was the alternative?  
  
I pushed all thoughts of tomorrow out of my mind. "Thanks hon," I said, perching on my toes to kiss him softly.   
  
He grinned back at me. "Always."  
  
For the first time since I'd woken up, I noticed the band-aid on the palm of my hand. I smiled wryly at him. "You fixed my hand,"  
  
"I did," he replied quietly, glancing down at the floor. Roger was so adorable when he was embarrassed. For someone who longed to perform in front of crowds, he could be so fragile. I let my hand glide over the soft quasi-beard on his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss my wounded palm. I melted.  
  
"Thank you," I managed to get out, my voice raspy even to my own ears.  
He nodded. "Feeling a bit better?"  
  
"Mmhmm," I answered, "I think the worst of it is over."  
  
"I hope so," he whispered, echoing my thoughts. I reached up to hug him, wrapping my arms around his neck and running my fingers through his short hair. His arms went around my waist tightly and he sighed into my neck.  
  
"Love you," he mumbled.  
  
"You too, baby. You too."  
  
**  
  
Two weeks later I found myself out on the fourth floor fire escape looking off into the distance, trying in vain to see something other than the city's skyline. There had to be something more, just outside of the city limits. One day I'd see it. For now, I was stuck.  
  
Roger and I had had yet another fight. The only difference was that this time I had beaten him to the storming out part. Somehow over the past couple of weeks our seemingly perfect love had begun to dissolve into its usual chaotic state. I had started going out again with some girls from the club-at first he had protested this and wouldn't let me go out at all. Finally, I decided I was going to live my life and just left for the night. It had taken two days for him to speak to me after that. Since then, I'd been hanging close to the apartment to avoid any major meltdowns. I hadn't really seen anyone other than Roger in a week, and God knew we didn't speak to each other more than what was absolutely necessary.   
  
I'd never been a particularly needy person, but I was lonely. I'm not ashamed to admit it.  
  
I loved Roger. Of course I loved Roger. But that didn't mean that I was going to let him run my life. I told him exactly that and he had exploded, I had yelled back then promptly gotten the hell out of the apartment. That was six hours ago.  
  
Which left me here. Out on a fire escape, and probably locked out of my own apartment.  
  
A clinking of footsteps against the metal grate above me shook me out of my thoughts. Who in the--? I looked up, seeing the soles of sneakers and black pants. "Mark?"  
  
A blonde head looked over the railing, its face completely obscured in the darkness. "Mimi?"  
  
"What are you doing out here?" I asked, pulling myself back up to my feet. I brushed bits of black paint and rust off of my cutoffs and red tank top then looked back up at him.  
  
"Can't sleep. You and Roger..." he trailed off, but I knew exactly what he was going to ask.  
  
"Yep,"  
  
"I figured. I heard most of it,"  
  
What? "How?"  
  
"Your window must have been open. You leave your windows open a lot," he said. Though I couldn't see his face, I could hear the smirk in his voice. Smartass.   
  
"You know you like it," I said lightly, pulling the bottom rung of the ladder down. It slid down with a loud clank. "Mind if I come up?"  
  
"Nope. I could use the company,"  
  
Me too, I thought, climbing quickly up the ladder. I poked my head above the platform, finally seeing Mark sitting back against the brick wall of the building. His camera sat next to him, untouched.   
  
"So how long have you been out here?" he asked, finally looking up at me.   
  
I fidgeted with the hem of my shorts. "Six hours or so. I'm alright."  
  
He shook his head, a rueful smile playing upon his lips. I couldn't quite get a read on his expression, and it bothered me; usually I was excellent at reading people. I sighed, sitting down opposite him with my back against the railing.  
  
"Are you really, Mimi?"   
  
I sighed. No, I wasn't okay. But I also wasn't going to tell Mark this. First of all, we were little more than acquaintances. We'd been brought together through Roger, and once Roger and I were through-as was looking more and more likely by the day-Mark would disappear from my life as well.  
  
"Yeah," I murmured, my eyes darting down to my lap. "I'm fine."  
  
Mark reached for his camera and flipped it on. Mentally, I rolled my eyes.  
  
"Close on Mimi," he began, more than just a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he zoomed in on my face. "She almost has herself convinced she's happy."  
  
"Ass," I spat out, turning away.  
  
"I'm sorry," Mark said immediately, setting his camera down gently on the metal platform. "I just worry about you."  
  
That made two of us. He was still talking, though. "But you and Roger will work through everything. You always do. And then it'll all go back to normal. You guys love each other, no matter how much you fight."  
  
I choked out a bitter laugh. "But in the meantime, I'm locked out of my own damned apartment."  
  
"But at least you're not alone anymore," he pointed out.   
  
I almost smiled at that. "True." Looking over at Mark, his eyes were busy looking at his camera for God-knows-what. Maybe he was just looking at it to stall for time. But his eyes gave him away. Realization smacked into me.  
  
"You miss him, don't you?" I asked softly, pulling my knees up to my chest.  
  
Mark nodded, gazing off somewhere behind me. "It gets lonely up here," he paused. "Of course, its not like Roger is always the greatest of company."  
  
That was certainly true. "But at least there's someone there," I murmured, catching his gaze with my own. Understanding flickered in his eyes.  
  
He looked at me curiously, his head cocked to the side. "Why haven't we talked, Mimi? I mean, since Roger came back I've barely seen you."  
  
I shrugged. "Couldn't tell you,"  
  
"Me either," he replied. "But I'm glad we did."  
  
I smiled. "Me too,"  
  
Mark stood up. "I was going to head inside. You're welcome to take my room if you want. I was going to sleep out on the couch anyway."  
  
I shook my head. "I should really get back downstairs,"  
  
He crinkled his nose in distaste. "Good luck with that." Offering me his hand, he pulled me to my feet then turned to climb back through the window. I began my long trek back down the fire escape ladders. "Hey Mimi," he called, sticking his head back out the window.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"If you ever need anything.... I'm just up here. Anytime," he said, smiling sadly. His camera was tucked safely under an arm.  
  
"Thanks," I paused for a moment. "Mark?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Same goes for you. Anything. Anytime."  
  
Mark grinned at me. "Anything?"  
  
I bit back a laugh. "You heard what I said," I called, continuing down the ladders.  
  
"Goodnight,"  
  
"Night," I replied, smiling to myself. It was rare that life shocked the hell out of you. I was just thrilled that even after all I had been through, simple kindness won out. Still grinning, I walked back into the apartment feeling more hopeful than I had in the past few weeks. Mark and I-friends. Who would have guessed? Meanwhile, Roger and I would fix our battered relationship and everything would work out. It had to. Didn't it?  
  
** 


	3. 3

Authors Notes 7/21/02: Aaaaaand....let the angst begin. Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last two chapters.   
  
Shout out to Lola and Dulcey for making me write this. Lola, I believe you owe me a tape now. Here is your scene. I hope you like it. :)  
  
  
**  
[3]  
**  
  
[Mimi]  
  
Six months ago today, Roger left for Santa Fe.  
  
After he left, I locked myself in my apartment for days. I didn't go to work or out to see any of my friends. The only time I went anywhere at all was to buy myself a fix and that was generally a ten-minute outing. This cycle continued for about a week, until finally there was a knock at my door. I stumbled over to answer it, one of Roger's shirts hanging down around my knees, dark circles under my eyes, with my hair falling in my face. Needless to say, I was not at my most stunning.  
  
It was Mark. He was going to spend the day filming in the park and wanted to know if I would like to come along. I looked up at him, incredulous, through my dark brown hair. I figured people had all but forgotten about my existence. Instead, Mark showed up at my doorstep on a random Sunday morning and wanted me to spend the day with him. I tried to put him off, saying that I was too tired and had plenty to do around the apartment. He just smiled at me hopefully and held up a white paper bag.   
  
"I have bagels," he said, waving the bag temptingly in front of my face. My stomach growled angrily at me-I hadn't eaten much in the past week-and I reluctantly gave in. It looked like it was going to be a fairly nice day anyway. Maybe getting out of the apartment would do me some good.  
  
I quickly got dressed, locked the apartment, and met Mark outside on the sidewalk. He filmed my exit from the building and I looked over at him questioningly.  
  
"You never know," he replied as a way of explaining absolutely nothing at all. I sighed. It was going to be a long, strange day.  
  
We walked over to the park in silence. Occasionally he would stop, turn his camera on, and film something. I would wait for him to finish being inspired, then we would proceed on our walk. After twenty minutes or so of this pattern, we stopped and sat down under a clump of trees. I immediately pounced on the bagels, nearly wrestling the bag out of his hands. He laughed easily, smiling at my immaturity and settling back against a tree to watch me.  
  
I looked up guiltily. "Want one?" I mumbled, my mouth full.  
  
He shook his head. "Nope, they're all yours,"  
  
I grinned. "Thanks."  
  
He just smiled, turning his attention to a couple walking hand in hand down the path. I tried to ignore how happy they seemed. "Mark, I've got to ask. Why did you do this?"  
  
He furrowed his brow, his eyes landing on mine. "Do what?"  
  
I held up a bagel. "This. Just...being nice to me in general."  
  
He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. "I don't know, Mimi. You needed to get out...I needed some company. It seemed like a good idea at the time."  
  
It wasn't until that moment that it struck me just how intensely lonely Mark was. I had always assumed that he was alone by choice; that he was okay with it. But looking at his downcast eyes, his hands fidgeting nervously with the strap of his camera, I realized he was more a victim of circumstance. All of us had paired off without a second thought, not really leaving him with any other options. And as much as I was missing Roger, Mark was missing him too. While I had lost my boyfriend, he had lost his best friend and roommate. Well, I could certainly relate to that.  
  
I looked up at him, smiling shyly. "Thank you for caring, Mark,"  
  
From there, the day got easier. Mark and I got along surprisingly well and had more in common than I would have thought. We talked about our families and our childhood ideas of what we had wanted to be 'when we grew up'. We even talked about Roger a bit, though it was definitely a sore subject. He filmed me feeding birds bits of leftover bagel, and later I curled up next to him in the sun to take a nap.   
  
When I woke up later that afternoon, I saw Mark stretched out on his back in the grass beside me, watching me sleep. I smiled lazily, propping myself up on an elbow. "What?"  
  
He shook his head slightly, sitting up. "Looking at you just now...I have no idea how he could have left."  
  
I reached for his hand, squeezing it slightly. "He left you too, you know,"   
  
With those words, tears began to slip down his cheeks. He swiped at them furiously, and I pulled him into a hug. Before I really knew what was happening he was crushing me to his chest desperately, his body shaking with sobs. I suspected it had been a long time since anyone had truly reached out to Mark. We sat there in the park, crying and clinging to each other, for I don't know how long. Eventually we made our way back to our respective apartments. He hugged me goodbye and I kissed his cheek softly, telling him to take care of himself. He nodded, then headed back up the stairs to the loft.  
  
The next Sunday, around 10 a.m., there was a knock on the door. I was surprised to say the least, but certainly not unhappy about it.   
  
From then on, Mark and I spent every Sunday in the park together, talking and laughing and people watching. We became friends, I think. We certainly grew to depend on each other's companionship. Sometimes, though not often, Mark would show up at my apartment during the week or I would go up to the loft for the night. We'd sit and talk until early in the morning then fall asleep on the couch.  
  
Roger came back from Santa Fe on a Sunday. He turned up early that morning with nothing but a sheepish expression, a thousand apologies, and his guitar; after seeing him I had immediately left my apartment. As happy as I was to see him, I was almost upset at his timing. Sundays were my time with Mark, and I'd grown to love them. I spent the day in the park, alone, hoping that Mark would show up. I desperately needed someone to talk to. But he never did. I can't say that I blame him-his best friend was suddenly home for the first time in months. Meanwhile, I panicked, I didn't go back to my apartment at all during the next week, got horribly sick from living on the street, and the rest, as they say, is history.  
  
Now, almost two months after Roger's glorious return, I'm standing on Mark's doorstep again, not sure whether I should knock or not. I shivered, pulling my coat tighter around my body. Oh, hell. It had been a wretched night, and it certainly wasn't as if I could talk to Roger about it all.  
  
Pushing all doubts out of my mind, I knocked. And waited. And waited.  
  
Finally I just opened the damned door and walked on in.  
  
**  
  
[Mark]  
  
"Mark?"  
  
I spun around, almost dropping my camera in the process. I hadn't even heard the door open. "Mimi?"  
  
She was dressed for going out-tight, glittery, sexy clubbing clothes and her ratty old coat that looked more like carpeting than clothing. I tried to come up with some legitimate reason why she'd show up on my doorstep like some stray cat. Had she and Roger fought again? Was she sick? Her eyes seemed panicked, darting around the room before meeting mine. Finally, I decided to quit staring at her and just find out why she was here.  
  
"What's wrong, Mims?" I asked, setting my camera down on a small table next to the couch and going over to her side.  
  
She shook her head violently, bits of glitter fluttering, shimmering in the moonlight as they drifted towards the floor. Mimi took two steps forward and into a beam of moonlight coming in through the skylight.  
  
My fingers twitched, longing to capture the image in front of me on film. Her face turned an ethereal silver in the moonlight as she looked back at me over her shoulder with a wistful longing playing across her delicate, exotic features. The light bounced off the vinyl of her boots and her eyes glowed with a mixture of determination and fear that I recognized as wholly Mimi.   
  
Somehow, Mimi had made her way into the spotlight without even trying.  
  
"Mark," she began, her wide eyes silently pleading with me. "I have to tell you something."  
  
Her jacket fell to the floor with a muffled thump, pooling around her black stiletto boots. She was left in only a tight, short red skirt and clingy, sparkly black top.  
  
I gulped. I was frozen, feeling for all the world like a fly trapped in a spider's web. In this case, though, the spider was an unbearably sexy, 5'3" Latina stripper in stilettos. I think I'd prefer the poisonous insect, given the choice.  
  
She took a slow, deliberate step toward me, her hips swaying sensually. "You can't say a word to Roger about this."  
  
I nodded dumbly, for lack of anything better to do. My mouth went dry and suddenly I realized my palms were sweaty. My God. I hadn't been this intimidated by a woman since junior high. But then, this wasn't just any girl; this was Mimi. This was the girl who had given me my first lap dance a couple of years ago, before we knew each other. Thankfully, she doesn't remember that. Or, at least I don't think she does.  
  
God, I hope she doesn't.  
  
Suddenly, a tanned forearm interrupted my thoughts. I focused in on her arm, and stood there for a moment, completely bewildered.  
  
Then, everything clicked.  
  
I caressed her arm gently, my fingers trailing up from her slender wrist to the soft skin on the inside of her elbow. My fingers stopped directly beneath a fresh red wound.  
  
A track mark. I should've known.  
  
"God, Mimi," I sighed, my head dropping to my chest. She gathered me into a hug, whispering frantically how it would never happen again, how this was the last time, how she couldn't stand doing this to Roger.  
  
Logically, I knew her relapse would destroy her already somewhat tenuous relationship with Roger. Once again, it seemed it was my job to pick up the pieces.  
  
"I'll help you," I mumbled against her neck, already hating myself for this choice. "But you've got to promise you'll always tell me the truth, or else you're just as well off alone."  
  
She nodded, her nose brushing against my chest. I could feel her hot tears soaking through my white t-shirt and instantly knew that this shirt was ruined. I don't want to be rude, but don't they make waterproof makeup? I don't know how Roger deals with the black smudges all over his shirts.  
  
"Thank you, Mark," Mimi snuffled, attempting to dry her eyes.   
  
I pulled out of her grasp, my hands still resting lightly on her upper arms. "Do you want to stay up here tonight?"  
  
"Yeah, I'd better," she replied. She glanced anxiously at the door.  
  
Roger. Fuck.  
  
"I'll go tell him something," I offered, already heading for the door. "Is he in your apartment?"  
  
She shook her head. "He's out with some people he knew from his band."  
  
Great. Just fucking great. Now I was going to have two relapsed junkies to deal with.  
  
"I'll go stick a note on your door," I decided, beginning the search for a pen and paper. "You can take my bed. I'm fine out here."  
  
Not even waiting for her reply, I grabbed some old stationary of Collins's from his brief stint at MIT, and a pen from some random hotel, then headed out the door.  
  
**  
  
[Mimi]  
  
As soon as Mark left the loft, I began to ransack the kitchen. My buzz from the club had long worn off and right now I wanted to deal with my problems like a healthy, well-adjusted 20-year-old. I was going to drink myself into oblivion. Things always looked better in the morning that way, or at least your problems seemed to pale in comparison to the massive hangover. Either way, I didn't really see how the night could get any worse.  
  
"Aha!" I muttered to myself, spotting an old-but blessedly full-bottle of Absolut in the back of the cabinet over the refrigerator. The boys probably didn't even realize this was here. Reaching the back of the cabinet was going to be a bitch, though. Thank God for being a dancer. I pulled a chair over to the refrigerator, swiftly climbed up on it and hoisted my right leg onto the top of the antiquated appliance. I was still about a foot shy of reaching the bottle. Maybe if I twisted just a bit...  
  
"God, Mimi, what are you doing?" Mark exclaimed. "You're gonna fall!"  
  
No shit. If you sneak up behind me and start screaming, of course I'm going to fall. "I'm fine, Mark," I gritted out, finally grabbing the vodka. The poor man had just gotten one hell of a show. I hopped off of the chair and pushed my skirt back down. Clutching my bottle proudly, I announced, "I now have everything I need to complete the evening."  
  
Mark shook his head, obviously exasperated with me. "Mimi, I really don't think a hangover is going to help anything."  
  
"Oh, there's where you're wrong," I called, uncapping my Absolut and heading into the living room. I took a nice, long pull from the bottle and tried to focus on anything other than the taste of the liquor. God, I hate vodka.  
  
I felt Mark standing behind me, his hands gripping my upper arms. "Jesus, Mimi," he admonished, prying the bottle out of my hands. "Sit down before you fall down."  
  
"I'm fine," I protested meekly. In truth, I was already feeling the delicious warm, tingly sensation that always came with the first shot. Or, in my case, first three.  
  
Mark's brow knit together; his entire face tensed in a look of extreme worry. I immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and I let him sit us down on the couch. "Seriously, Mims. Are you okay?"  
  
I nodded, instinctively. I looked at my tight red skirt, and I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps it had originally been intended to be worn as a tube top.  
  
"Mimi," Mark said. His voice had taken on a sharp edge. His hand gently cupped my cheek, and lifted my face to meet his eyes.  
  
Oh, hell. I never could lie to anyone when I looked them straight in the eyes. It was just one of those talents I wasn't lucky enough to possess. My mother had learned this early on in my childhood and ruthlessly exploited it until I moved out on my sixteenth birthday.  
  
"No," I whispered. "I'm not okay."  
  
**   
  
[Mark]  
  
"I'm not okay," I heard Mimi say, her voice catching on the last word. She leaned her head onto my shoulder and I immediately wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into my chest.  
  
"It'll be alright, Mim," I murmured into her hair. "I'll fix everything, and you and Roger will go back to normal, and-"  
  
I was cut off by a huge sob from the woman in my lap. What the hell?  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
She looked up at me miserably with wet, black eyes. "Roger," she groaned. "The last thing I want is for everything to go back to normal."  
  
Um, okay. Just twenty minutes ago, wasn't she worried that Roger would never forgive her?  
  
"Mimi, I'm really not following," I replied gently. She sighed, then dragged herself out of my embrace. Grabbing the Absolut off of the makeshift coffee table, she poured herself a double shot. This time, I didn't even try to stop her.  
  
She quickly drank the liquor, then poured another; this time sliding the glass my way.  
  
"I don't love him, Mark. Not like I thought I did."  
  
Oh, hell.  
  
I grabbed the glass and took the shot, wincing at the sting as the liquor burned its way down to my stomach. I grabbed the bottle and poured myself another, taking it just as quickly.  
  
Mimi quirked an eyebrow. "Wow."  
  
"Wow yourself," I choked out. "You don't love Roger?"  
  
She shook her head. "I love him, Mark. Very much. But I'm not in love with him," she paused, twisting a dark brown curl around her finger. "But then, we've never been quite right together. We've always fought. We've never trusted each other."  
  
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Roger and Mimi seemed like they had finally solved most of their problems in the past month. Granted, they had been fighting lately, but I always thought it was just how they worked. Yes, they fought constantly, but in the end they loved each other; in the end, love was enough. It seemed I was horribly mistaken. "But, when you were sick..."  
  
Mimi shrugged, looking sadly down at her hands. "It got better for a while. But once normality set in, all of our old patterns came back."  
  
My head dropped forward and I took off my glasses, rubbing the bridge of my nose. How could I have been so blind? I saw the two of them nearly every day...for things to be this fucked up and me not to even notice, just how selfish was I?   
  
"That's what happened tonight," she continued quietly. "He yelled at me for dancing with some other guy, and ended up leaving with some people he hardly knew. I have no idea where he is. So, I came up here."  
  
I tossed my glasses carelessly onto the coffee table, watching as they skittered across the surface and hit the bottle with a clink. "I had no idea, Mims," I said. "I'm so sorry. I should have paid more attention...I should have done something."  
  
Mimi chuckled, the hint of a sob creeping into her voice. "You couldn't have, Mark. Even Roger thinks everything is fine." She reached for the vodka again. "Shall we?"  
  
I nodded, noting with amusement at how her wrist shook as she tried to pour a drink and succeeded only in spilling it all over the table. "Well, fuck," she muttered, giving up and drinking straight from the bottle.   
  
I stifled a laugh. That's my girl, I thought wryly, taking the bottle from her and taking a drink myself. I lay back against the soft couch, closing my eyes and relishing the warm, heavy, fuzzy feeling of impending drunkenness. I was going to be severely fucked up in the morning if I kept this up.  
  
Mimi swung her legs over my lap and snuggled up to my chest. I hummed contentedly, nuzzling her hair and noting happily how it smelled like a mixture of jasmine and Mimi. "We'll work everything out, Mimi. Together."  
  
"I know," she replied. I smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. My other hand rested on her boot, right below her knee. My fingers found the zipper on her boots and started working it slowly downward.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
My hand stilled. "Taking off your boots," I replied, still whispering. "They can't be comfortable."  
  
"Oh. Okay,"  
  
I worked one boot off her slender calf, then the other. They hit the floor with a loud thump. Mimi flexed her toes, sighing happily. "Thank you,"  
  
I nodded.   
  
Mimi lifted her head off my chest; I felt her eyes closely examining my face. "What is it?" I asked.  
  
"I've never seen you without your glasses before," she replied.  
  
I smiled at her, yet noted how sad this small observation was. Mimi and I had never been very close-there was always the buffer of Roger between us. Now, however, it was Roger who was bringing us together. "What's the verdict?"  
  
"I like it," she said shyly. "You're a beautiful person, Mark."  
  
Where was this coming from? And more importantly, where was all of this going? Her simple, quiet statement was easily the kindest thing anyone has ever said about me. It was time to ask the question that had been nagging me for the past hour.  
  
"Why'd you come up here tonight?"  
  
She shrugged. "I trust you,"  
  
Impulsively, I moved to kiss her cheek. At the last minute she lifted her face to look at me, and our lips made contact. We froze, but neither of us pulled back. Instead, her eyes fluttered open and regarded me with anticipation and fear. Our first kiss was incredible-there were no sparks, no fireworks, no fanfare. It was like melting as our lips met and moved over each other. There was nothing awkward or unnatural about it.  
  
I never knew it could be like that.  
  
The next few minutes flew by in a flurry of kisses, touches, and whispers. We somehow made it back into my bedroom. Hours later, Mimi curled up naked by my side, her hair spilled across my chest, I heard her whisper "I love you, Mark." I answered that I loved her too. It was true-somehow, over the last six hours, I had fallen desperately in love with Mimi.  
  
I just couldn't help but wonder exactly what she meant by that and if she whispered the same thing to Roger every night.  
  
**  
  
Reviews rock my world. :) 


	4. 4

A/N: Okay....this is a short one. Angsty, though. Roger will be back soon enough-I promise. :) Thanks for the reviews, everyone. They seriously made my week.   
  
And, um...I'm rather stalled at the moment (I hate the word blocked. Its evil.) Reviews might help things along (hint hint). ;)  
  
  
**  
[4]  
**  
  
[Mimi]  
  
I awoke the next morning to a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, warm breath tickling my ear, and a pounding headache. I sighed, deciding to let Roger hold me for a bit longer, when suddenly it hit me.  
  
I was in the loft. I wasn't with Roger. I was with Mark.  
  
Oh, God.  
  
I felt my chest constrict as tears threatened to overtake me. Desperately, I tried to hold them back and not wake Mark. I failed miserably and erupted into sobs, my entire body convulsing as wet hot tears poured from my eyes.  
  
I felt Mark stir behind me, and in a second he had rolled me onto my back and was looking at me, his blue eyes sleepy and unfocused, but wide with terror. I clutched the sheet to my chest, feeling cheaper than ever before. God, I had used Mark.  
  
"Mims, what's wrong?" he asked frantically, pushing my hair back behind my ears.  
  
I shook my head, my eyes clenched shut. "My God, Mark," I gasped. "What have I done?"  
  
He gathered me to his chest, stroking my hair and my back. I heard him whisper how everything would be alright. After a few minutes, I calmed down and I lifted my head off of his chest. I kept expecting him to speak, but we simply looked into one another's eyes for what felt like eternity. Mark's hands cupped my face, his thumbs gently brushing away my tears.  
  
For the first time that morning, I smiled.  
  
"Better?" he asked softly.  
  
I nodded, still sniffling a bit. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice raspy from sleep and tears.  
  
"Don't be," he replied. "I'm not."  
  
I crossed my arms on his chest, resting my chin on them so that our faces were only inches apart. I leaned forward slightly and kissed his dry lips. Pulling back, my eyes rested on his again. His brows knit together and his lips turned slightly downward.  
  
"Mimi, I've got to know," he began. "When you told me that you...loved me. Were you just saying that or did you actually mean it?"  
  
Poor Mark. His eyes were so earnest and fragile, reminding me more of a little boy than a grown man approaching 25.  
  
"Mark?" I whispered. "I don't say anything I don't mean."  
  
He smiled at me, his hand moving to caress my back. "Me either," he replied, his voice still gravelly from sleep. He raised an eyebrow. "And what about Roger?"  
  
I shook my head. I still remember the night it happened.  
  
It was a hot summer night, crickets were chirping and a faint breeze was blowing away the humidity of the day. I had been outside on the fire escape for an hour or two, letting my legs dangle through the bars and throwing bits of gravel from the roof onto the street below. I hadn't been able to sleep and my squirming had woken Roger up repeatedly, so I had headed outside. We had argued earlier in the afternoon-I had wanted to go dancing, and as usual, he was against it.  
  
"Please, Roger?" I had pleaded, my eyes searching his for any sort of compassion. While staying in was all well and good, it had been a month of being stuck in the apartment and I was fucking sick of it.  
  
"No way, Mimi," he snapped. "Its too soon. You'll go right back to using."  
  
"You can't just keep me locked in this apartment like a princess!" I yelled, feeling my face flush in anger. "You've got to trust me!"  
  
Roger shook his head, turning away from me. He walked into the bedroom, closed the door. After a moment, I heard a few strained chords of his guitar and knew I wouldn't be seeing him for a couple of hours.  
  
I felt myself sinking, my mind reeling as one thought kept running through my head: Roger doesn't trust me.  
  
It was at that moment I knew our relationship was on borrowed time.  
  
Out on the fire escape, I shook my head sadly. Figuring I had better give the sleep thing one more try, I made my way back inside to my bedroom and froze. Roger was in my bed, where I'd left him hours before. But, unlike usual, I felt no pull to him. I sat down on the floor and watched him sleep for at least an hour, shocking myself as realization washed over me. I wasn't in love with Roger and I hadn't been for some time. Undoubtedly, I loved him. He was my closest friend, and he clearly loved me very much. But somehow we'd quietly transitioned from lovers to friends who shared a bed without either of us noticing.  
  
But, I realized slowly, I couldn't leave Roger either. He was finally happy and stable. He was writing songs. He didn't treat me badly, and I knew that he loved me. He took care of me when I was sick and held me while I slept. In the end, I had nothing to complain about.  
  
However, as I crawled into bed beside him, I couldn't help but think that maybe there was something more than this.  
  
Well, it seemed that I had finally found what was waiting on the other side. Unfortunately, it came in the form of my boyfriend's best friend.   
  
It would kill Roger.  
  
Of all the people in the world for me to fall in love with, it had to be Mark. Anyone else, and Roger might be able to cope.  
  
But not Mark. Never Mark.  
  
I pulled myself out of Mark's arms and began to find my clothes where they'd been scattered around from the night before. I found my shirt on top of a pile of film reels in the corner. I pulled it on, then proceeded to the living room, ignoring the empty bottle of vodka on the table and finding my skirt hanging accusatorially off of a lamp by the couch. I glared at it, then turned around to see Mark standing in the doorway to his room, dressed in only boxers.  
  
"Mimi," he asked, his voice quavering. "What's going on?"  
  
**  
  
"What's going on?" I asked, my mind racing.  
  
Mimi shook her head, dark springy curls swinging from side to side. Her eyes slid from my face to the floor.  
  
"It would kill him, Mark," she breathed, taking a step back-away from me. "He's finally gotten some stability in his life. I can't do that to him."  
  
I stared at her, my mouth agape. "But, Mimi," I protested anemically, all coherent speech fading just beyond my grasp.  
  
She placed her and on my arm, attempting to reassure me, I suppose. Instead, the action was even more distressing. I met her brown eyes solemnly. "Someday, Mark. That's all I can promise you."  
  
I jerked away from her touch. "Tomorrow isn't a guarantee!" I exclaimed. "All we have is here, now..." I gestured wildly around me. "This." I finished, my voice resuming a normal level. I took her hand in my own.  
  
"Its all we have, Mark," she murmured, pulling me close to her, wrapping her arms around my waist.  
  
"Then...what?" I asked. "We say goodbye? Just like that?"  
  
Mimi nodded again. I felt her nose nuzzle my chest and I smiled through the tears that were threatening behind my eyelids. "I'd better get back downstairs."  
  
Numbly, I nodded. "Roger's waiting." I said sensibly, pulling her closer to me.  
  
Mimi let me hold her a moment longer, then gently pried herself out of my embrace.  
  
"Goodbye," I offered, staring at my bare feet on the worn wood floor. It was too early in the morning for this sort of devastation.  
  
Mimi crossed to the door of the loft, her hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment. She spun to meet my gaze. "I do love you, Mark." She said, her voice almost pleading.  
  
"I know," I replied. "You too."  
  
She pulled the door open. "No regrets."  
  
"No regrets," I echoed, listening as the door clanged shut behind her. I silently sunk to the floor, the thud of my body hitting the wood floor echoing through the empty loft.  
  
What had just happened?  
  
**  
  
Reviews make me write faster. :) 


	5. 5

A/N: I really love this chapter. I'm not sure what that means, since the rule seems to be that everyone loves the chapters that the author hates. :)  
  
It only gets worse from here, folks. But if you hang in there (and are kind enough to review), I promise all will work out in the end.  
  
Thanks to Lola and Dulcey for the merciless stalking on the last part of this chapter. Yes, I finally got them off of the windowsill (and without them falling out!). Thank God.   
You both need to go write now. :P  
  
To Lauren. Just...thank you. :)  
  
**  
[5]  
**  
  
[Roger]  
  
The door slammed, and I knew that Mimi was home. I'd gotten Mark's note from the night before, saying that Mimi had needed to talk and was crashing up at the loft for the night. Honestly, I was glad that Mimi was talking to someone-she'd been strangely silent toward me for the past two weeks. More and more of our conversations simply dissolved into arguments that ended with me slamming doors and closing myself off somewhere with my guitar, and Mimi either going for a walk or ignoring me for the next two days. Usually some combination of the two. Back to normal, basically. Everything had been so perfect only a month ago when Mimi had been going through the worst of her withdrawal.   
  
I was such a fool to think it would last.  
  
I set my guitar down carefully on the bed and stood to go see how Mimi was doing.  
  
"Mimi?" I called. "That you?"  
  
"Yep!" I heard her yell. Walking into the kitchen, I found her rummaging through the cabinets, AZT and a glass of water already laid out in front of her.  
  
"Baby, where's the aspirin?" she asked distractedly, not even glancing over at me.  
  
I opened the cabinet over the stove and silently handed the bottle to her. "Thanks," she replied, still not meeting my gaze. Must still be angry about the night before, I sighed. I moved around behind her and snaked my arms around her waist. Ducking my head, I began to trail kisses down her neck.  
  
"I'm sorry," I murmured, moving down to her shoulder. "I'll make it up to you."  
  
"Roger, stop," Mimi said roughly, pulling herself away from me and stalking into the other room.  
  
"Jesus, Mimi! What is your problem lately?"  
  
"Nothing!" she shouted back. She visibly sighed, then forced a smile. "I'm fine, Roger. I just really need a shower. We'll talk in a few minutes, okay?"  
  
I nodded, completely bewildered. What in the hell was going on with her? Mimi had never acted like this. At least, not since...Benny. Oh, God. Fear and hatred coursed through me. Could she be seeing him again? How...?  
  
Mark. Mark would know. He had that way about him that seemed to cause everyone to tell him their problems. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be Mark.  
  
I was out the door before I even realized it. With any luck, I'd have something concrete before Mimi was even out of the shower.  
  
**  
  
The door to the loft roughly jerked open.   
  
It had been an agonizing ten minutes since Mimi had made her grand departure and I was still collapsed on the floor, staring blankly at the wall.   
  
Oh my God, what was I going to do?  
  
I really wish I could say that I was so drunk that I didn't know what I was doing, but I can't. The truth is that I knew exactly what I was doing. I risked my life and my best friend last night. And you know what? In the end, it was worth it. To feel alive when she held me in her arms, to feel her soft kisses against my skin....to feel anything but numb-anything at all. I welcome the pain; at least it's a reminder that I'm still alive. The most amazing part of this whole fucked up scenario is that I love her. She's my best friend's girlfriend. A drug addicted stripper. HIV positive. This whole situation is so twisted that it's almost starting to make some sense.  
  
"Mark? What the fuck are you doing on the floor?"  
  
Roger. Oh, Jesus Christ. This could be bad.  
  
Hell, I slept with his girlfriend. By my calculations, I deserved anything he could dish out.  
  
"Um, nothing," I mumbled, pulling myself to my feet. I avoided Roger's worried gaze and walked over to the coffee table, picking up the empty bottle of Absolut and the glass that still had Mimi's lipstick print on the rim. I sighed, remembering the feel of her lips on mine and the waxy taste of her lipstick. God, even I hated myself.  
  
Ignoring the fact that Roger was following me around the room, I walked into the kitchen and set the things down on the counter. I filled a new glass with water, and went to take a drink.  
  
"I need to you be honest with me," Roger implored. I nodded, still not meeting his eyes. He ran a shaky hand through his spiky blonde hair and continued. "I think Mimi's seeing someone else."  
  
I choked on my water, sending myself into a coughing fit. Fabulous, Mark. Way to play it cool.  
  
"Jesus, Mark. What in the hell is wrong with you this morning?" Roger asked, smacking me on the back a couple of times, as if it would help. I quickly stepped away from him, instead moving back into the living room. "So what did you two talk about last night?"  
  
God, he just wouldn't stop this morning, would he? It wasn't like I didn't feel guilty as hell without him coming here and asking questions. I decided to go with a perfectly noncommittal answer.  
  
"If Mimi wants you to know, she'll tell you. Its really not up to me to say anything, Rog."  
  
I was such a lying son of a bitch. But really, what was I supposed to say? 'Hey Rog, your girlfriend sure is amazing in bed...Oh, and by the way I may have fallen in love with her'? I'm sure that would go over well. Plus, as far as I knew, Roger didn't even realize that Mimi and I had become friends while he was gone. He probably thought we were barely acquaintances.  
  
Roger sat down on the couch, leaning forward and looking at his hands. "She's just acting really strangely. Things haven't been right between us for a couple of weeks, and this morning she just seemed...distant. I don't know. I was hoping she'd told you something last night."  
  
She told me lots of things last night, Roger, I thought sadly. None of which you'd want to hear.  
  
"Not a lot," I replied, hating myself more with every word that came out of my mouth. I'd never been a liar. Of course, I'd never had a real need to lie until, well, now. "She said she was worried about the two of you. We talked a little, drank a little, then she fell asleep."  
  
Well, that was partially the truth. It just left out the one crucial event of the evening.  
  
"Okay," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I guess I should go talk to her."  
  
"You should," I affirmed, silently pleading with him to leave me alone.  
  
He stood up, crossing over to the door. "Thanks, Mark," he called, closing the door behind him. I heard the thundering of his heavy boots running downstairs and walked over to the door. Throwing the deadbolt on the door, I walked back over to the couch. My legs gave out and I tumbled onto it in a mass of tears.  
  
Oh my God, what had I done?  
  
**  
  
I sat on the grungy bathroom floor, a knee pulled up to my chest, furiously scrubbing away at the bright red nail polish that had been on my toes. I frowned, noticing how the remover had barely made a dent in the color. Long-wearing was right.   
Angel had left me all of her makeup when she had died, so I now had quite an impressive array of cosmetics and nail polish. I found myself missing her more than ever before when I got home this morning. I wished I could go over to her apartment and talk about all of my problems over a cup of tea. Angel gave some damned good advice. I wished she could give me some kind of guidance today.  
  
After getting out of the shower, I decided to repaint my toenails. Funny how something so little and insignificant could make a previously unbearable day a little more normal. I'd try anything to be just a little more in control of this highly fucked up situation. Anything to get Mark off of my mind. Strange how someone who barely registered in my mind as more than an afterthought a day or two ago could now occupy my mind so completely that I couldn't seem to think of anyone or anything else.  
  
The door to my apartment slammed. Roger. Great.  
  
"Mimi?"  
  
"I'm in the bathroom, Rog," I called, holding my newly painted foot up to the light. Hmm. Ruby Chrome, the bottle read. Well, it was certainly a change.   
  
"What are you doing in there?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. What did he think I was doing? "Painting my nails."  
  
"Can I come in? I really wanted to talk to you."  
  
I paused. "I'm not dressed."  
  
Roger choked out a laugh. "Since when does that matter?"  
  
He had a point. He was my boyfriend. He'd seen me naked hundreds of times. Hell, half of the city had seen me naked, or at least close to it. Sudden modesty wasn't a good way to avoid suspicion. "Hold on a sec," I replied, grabbing my robe off of the back of the door. Shrugging into the old, ugly red housecoat that I had inherited from my mother, I opened the door, then sat back down on the floor.  
  
Roger sat down on the bathroom counter, directly in front of me. His eyes looked...sad. Defeated, maybe. God, I hoped Mark hadn't told him anything.  
  
"I went to see Mark," he began, looking down at my newly painted toes. I moved to paint my other foot, trying to ignore the shaking in my hand and keep the panic out of my voice.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
He nodded. My hand careened wildly to the side, getting a glop of nail polish on my ankle. Great. Way to avoid suspicion, Mimi.  
  
Roger jumped off of the counter. "Jesus, Mimi. Let me do that." Sitting down in front of me, he grabbed my ankle and placed my foot in his lap, then began painting my toes for me.  
  
I found myself staring at him. He was such a sweet, kind man. Troubled, yes. Quick temper? Certainly. But behind that entire tough exterior was one of the best people I'd run across in my short life. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn't seem to make myself fall in love with him again. I just couldn't make myself hate him either.  
  
He paused, looking up at me with the brush in hand. "It's not working, is it Mim?"  
  
My face fell. "I don't know."  
  
He shook his head, going back to his painting. "I think I should move back to the loft."  
  
Oh God. Poor Mark. He was so much less capable of handling this situation than I was. At least I was experienced at being the cheating one in a relationship. I knew how to deal with the aftermath, or at least was vaguely familiar with the lying and denial that always went along with these situations. Mark...had probably never done anything wrong in his life until last night.  
  
"I don't know if that will help anything," I responded, looking at the chipped nail polish on my fingers. Maybe I should repaint them too. Anything to keep my mind off of my rapidly crumbling life.  
  
"I don't know if it will either, Mimi, but we've got to try something," he paused. "We're falling apart. We both know it."  
  
If I wasn't so overrun by emotions at the moment, I'd be more impressed with the fact that Roger was confronting a problem for once in his life. Of course, the idea that I meant enough to him for him to deal with something scared me, to say the very least.  
  
"I don't want to lose you, Rog," I mumbled, feeling myself begin to cry. Damnit, I'd promised myself I wasn't going to cry any more today. There goes that one.  
  
He capped the nail polish, then roughly pulled me into a hug. "I don't either, baby."  
  
I laid my head on Roger's chest and sniffled, hating myself for being so unintentionally cruel. He stroked my hair, and I felt his chest begin to shake with sobs. We sat there on the floor, crying and holding each other, for almost an hour.  
  
Finally, he got up and moved into the bedroom to start packing his things up to take to the loft. I dragged myself off of the floor and walked over to the doorway to our-my-room, wrapping my arms tightly around myself.   
  
He looked up at me, his eyes bright from tears. "Why don't you go tell Mark what's going on,"  
  
I nodded, grabbing some clothes off of the floor and slipping into them. As much as I dreaded seeing Mark, I dreaded watching Roger pack up what was left of our life together even more. "I'll be back in a minute," I called over my shoulder, shutting the door behind me.  
.  
**  
  
"Mark! I have to talk to you; open the fucking door!"  
  
Mimi's pounding and yelling woke me out of a sound sleep on the couch. I pulled my face out from under a pillow and looked around the room. Spotting Mimi's coat in a corner, I groaned. No, apparently the last twelve hours hadn't been a dream. Damnit. I dropped, defeated, back onto the couch.  
  
"Mark, I swear to God, if you don't open this door...!"  
  
I half-rolled off the couch and forced myself to walk over to the door. Rubbing at my eyes roughly, I unlocked the deadbolt then walked back over to the couch. If Mimi was in as much of a frenzy as I suspected, I was going to need to sit down for this one.  
  
Mimi stormed in, stopping in front of me with her hands on her hips. God, with that wild-eyed look on her face she reminded me so much of Maureen. I closed my eyes. I just couldn't win today, could I?  
  
"Roger's moving out," she announced.  
  
"What?"  
  
She began to pace in front of me. "He's moving out. Back up here. With you."  
  
"Jesus," I muttered. "Could this situation get a little more fucked up?"  
  
"I really don't see how," Mimi replied, collapsing next to me on the couch. "But I'm fairly sure that its possible."  
  
I sighed. "So what do we do?"  
  
She shook her head, her curly hair brushing my shoulder. "I guess we go on like nothing ever happened,"  
  
We sat there in silence for a few minutes after that statement. I knew that I didn't want to live my life believing that last night meant nothing to me; that it was just some random occurrence no more meaningful than picking up a stranger in a bar. And, from what I could tell, it didn't fit with Mimi's plan either. She got the words out, but wasn't very convincing about it.  
  
So what was stopping us?  
  
"Mark, um....I know we were safe. But I really think you should get tested in a few months," she stammered softly.  
  
Okay, that definitely was not what I was expecting. "What?"  
  
"I'll go with you!" she added, turning to face me. "I mean..."  
  
I eyed her suspiciously. "What are you saying?"  
  
Mimi took my hands in her own. "God, Mark. I'm so sorry. I never should have..." she shook her head, clearly frustrated. "I was so selfish."  
  
Where was this coming from? A few hours ago, she had loved me. She had told me 'no regrets'. What the hell? "Mimi, I don't regret a thing. It was my choice-"  
  
"But you never should have had to..."  
  
"Just stop," I said, squeezing her hands. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it. We'll get through it."  
  
Mimi pulled her hands away from me and walked over to the window, crossing her arms and looking out across the empty lot next door. She looked back at me over her shoulder, a wistful smile playing over her face.  
  
Alright, now she was scaring me. "Mims?"  
  
"Mark, I came up here in part to tell you that there can't be an us. There's just too many things in the way," she sighed, turning back to the window.  
  
"What's going on with you and Roger, Mimi?" I asked, holding my head in my hands and massaging my temples.  
  
She turned and sat down on the windowsill. Well, at least she was facing me. That alone was an improvement. "I don't know," she replied quietly, swinging her legs and looking down at her bare feet. Her voice sounded impossibly small and utterly un-Mimi. Her shoulders hunched forward. It was like the events of the past day had knocked all of the fight out of her. Gone was the Mimi who would scale the fire escape on a whim, kiss Maureen simply to make Roger jealous, or stay out all night partying. In her place was a young, scared girl whose life was spiraling wildly out of control. Against all better judgment I left my spot on the couch and moved to sit next to her on the windowsill.   
  
She looked over at me then fidgeted with her hands, chipping away at some nail polish. "I don't think we should see each other for a while. Until we figure this out."  
  
I nodded. "If that's what you think is best,"  
  
Mimi stood to leave and I pulled her back to me so she was sitting on my lap. Sighing, I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. This could be the last time I would get to hold her and I was determined to take advantage of it.   
  
"Mark, I have to go back downstairs," she whispered. Her voice was strangled and higher than usual from holding back tears.   
  
"Okay," I mumbled, kissing her cheek softly. My arms slid from around her waist and limply rested at my sides. "Go, Mimi."  
  
I didn't watch her leave. I heard the door close, and numbly stood to go straighten my room up a bit before Roger started to move back in.  
  
**  
  
A/N: If you only *knew* what was in the next part.... :) 


	6. 6

Author's notes (because I'm self-indulgent like that): Um...yeah. This section has been written for quite a while but I've been so unsure of everything that follows it that I just haven't updated. ::whew:: That was one heck of a run-on sentence. :)  
  
Reviews make this whole process worthwhile. I mean, despite the killer pay. LOL. Anyway, leave reviews. Not just for me, but for everyone. Its good for the soul. :)   
Thanks so much to everyone who has left reviews so far. You don't know how much it's meant!   
  
Thanks, as usual, to the always lovely Robby. And to Lola, Dulcey, and Becca. You guys rock. Hugs for all of you.   
  
**  
[6]  
**  
  
Spring came a month later, sending all of New York into an impromptu heat wave. I hadn't heard from Mark or Roger in over two weeks. While at first the silence had been a welcome break from dealing with the tension between the two men and myself, it was beginning to drive me insane. Though living with Roger had been less than ideal at times, it was comforting to know that there was always someone there. I found myself missing the insignificant moments, like when he'd walk up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist for no reason whatsoever, or having someone to eat dinner with.   
  
Three days ago, I gave up hope of seeing either of them again for longer than five minutes. So, yesterday I got a cat. Well, kind of. She turned up on my doorstep and looked so pathetic that I couldn't bear to turn her away. It's better than being alone, I suppose.  
  
Today I've spent most of my day doing laundry. After hauling about four loads of laundry down 10 blocks, I'm ready to drop. Its not just hot outside, its that unbearable mix of humidity and heat where your lungs feel like they're about to collapse and even the slightest movement saps all of your energy.   
  
I couldn't help but wonder what Mark was doing, and how he was doing. From what Roger had told me, he spent most of his days holed up in his room, supposedly working on films, or out wandering around the city filming whatever caught his eye. Roger went with him a couple of times, but stated that things were 'too weird' between the two of them. Of course, he still doesn't know about Mark and I. Not that there is a 'Mark and I'. But Roger just assumes its because they still aren't used to living together again. If he only knew.  
  
Roger and I...well, we're not together but we're not quite over either. He's spent the night over here a few times. We stayed up until the early hours of the morning talking about everything and nothing, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms. It was comforting. It's as if we realize that we can't be together, but we aren't quite ready to give each other up yet. I know its driving Mark crazy, though. Hell, it's driving me crazy.  
  
I suppose I could do something about this entire situation. But right now I was rather content, sitting in front of the fan in a tank top and shorts with my poor scraggly tabby kitten. I scratched her ears and she purred happily, arching her back and switching her tail. All she needed was a good meal and a bit of love. She'd perk up in no time. This heat was ridiculous, though. And it was only March. It was going to be such a long summer. There was something seriously wrong with sitting in front of a fan and sweating. I think it was actually cooler outside than in this godforsaken, airless apartment.  
  
I decided to venture outside, picking up the cat and taking her with me.   
  
"You're a good kitty, you know that?" I asked her, walking barefoot out into the stairwell. God. I was talking to a cat and half-expecting her to talk back to me. I really needed to get out of the apartment more often.  
  
All of a sudden, I ran into something. Correction: someone. The cat leapt free of my arms, darting quickly out the door into the street. I watched its little tail swish happily with rediscovered freedom. Well, shit. I really didn't want to have to go hunt down a cat today. I mumbled a quick "Sorry," without looking up, then went to chase after my cat. Two steps from the door, I spun around, looking at who I had run into.  
  
"Mark?"  
  
"Sorry bout that, Mims," he offered. I walked back over to him, noticing that his camera was mysteriously absent. I took a step closer to him, our eyes locking. My God, I had missed him. Before I even realized what was happening, I was kissing him. My mouth crushed against his in a strange mixture of passion, fear, and longing as my hands worked their way under his shirt. His skin was hot and sticky from sweat. The heat of his body with the stale, thick air of the stairwell was too much. I could barely breathe.  
  
He stumbled back a couple of steps, eventually running into the brick wall of the entryway to the building. I pressed into him, not letting up on my assault. It wasn't like he was putting up much of a fight, anyhow. Roughly, he pulled his mouth away from mine. "Missed you," he gasped, his eyes rolling back as I nipped his lower lip. I nodded slightly then began to walk us backwards to my apartment. We fell inside, giggling, as he pinned me against the door and began to have his way with me. Mark had an aggressive streak. Who would have known? I moaned happily, all thoughts of the cat long forgotten. The damned thing could fend for itself for all I cared. I dragged Mark back to my bedroom, scattering clothes all around us along the way.  
  
Forty-five minutes later, we collapsed--sweaty, naked, and panting--on opposite sides of the bed. There was a reason that mid-afternoon sex in the summer was not the brightest idea. My fingers walked over to his hand, curling around the tips of his fingers. That little bit of contact was about all of the extra heat I could handle at the moment. I hate summer. I heard Mark sigh, and he looked over at me. His hair was adorably squashed down in places and spiky in others and his blue eyes seemed brighter than normal. He grinned at me.  
  
"So, Mimi. How have you been?"  
  
I rolled over onto my stomach, laughing at this. He dropped a kiss onto my shoulder. "Don't you have a fan in here?"  
  
I groaned. "Its on,"  
  
Mark shook his head. I propped myself up on an elbow, looking at him. "Hi," I said softly.  
  
"Hi yourself," he replied, chuckling. "I went out for the paper. How in the hell did I end up here?"  
  
"Not a clue," I said. "You must have met someone very persuasive along the way."  
  
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I guess you could call her that. Meanwhile, my roommate expected me back an hour ago."  
  
My face fell at the mention of Roger. I dropped Mark's hand and suddenly became disgustingly aware of the fact that I wasn't wearing any clothes. I sat up, scanning the room for something to throw on. I was such a fucking whore.  
  
Mark looked over at me and tossed me his white t-shirt from where it had been abandoned on the floor. I'm surprised it had made it that far into my apartment. I really needed to reexamine my order of undressing. I watched Mark stumble out into the living room, presumably to find some of his clothes.   
  
"I'm sorry, Mimi," he called. "I shouldn't have said anything."  
  
I sighed, running a hand through my thoroughly tangled hair. My nails got stuck for a moment and I tugged them free, taking a chunk of hair with them. Lovely. I heard the faucet in the kitchen running. "Mark, get back in here,"  
  
His head poked around the doorframe. "What?"  
  
"We have to talk about this sometime. Get over here."  
  
Mark ran a hand through his messy bed-hair and walked over to me carrying a glass of water. At least he was wearing boxers. This really was the kind of conversation that required clothing. "There's nothing to talk about, Mimi."  
  
I sighed again. Mark was the sort of person who went more willingly into conversations when he didn't see them coming.   
  
"I went to see you two weeks ago," I began, trying to distract him. He looked down at me curiously, taking a long drink of water then passing the glass to me. Yeah, that shut him up. I took a sip of the water, then handed it back to him. "It was one of the nights Roger spent down here. I couldn't sleep, so I went to see you,"  
  
It had started out innocently enough. I usually went to the second floor's fire escape when I couldn't sleep-it had always been my place to sit and think. Then, I decided to go up to the third floor. Then I got the bright idea to go visit Mark-in the sixth floor loft. Not long after, I realized that the ladders for the next three floors were rusted to the point where they wouldn't pull down any more. So much for Benny's promised maintenance of the building. No problem, I said. I'll climb.  
  
Two floors and multiple bruises later, hands coated in rust, I realized my plan was slightly flawed. Oh well, at least no one could say I wouldn't go through hell for someone I love.  
  
I hoisted myself up onto the sixth floor landing and sat there panting for a few minutes. I was in good shape and it was rather cool out, but that was one of the most hellish things I've ever done. I looked out across the city streets. The view from up there was even better. I let my legs dangle between the bars and a breeze ruffled the wisps of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail, causing them to stick to my sweaty skin. My clothes were filthy-covered in 20 years worth of dirt and rust and black paint chips. My red tank top and cutoffs would never be the same.  
  
I finally stood up, brushed my shorts off, and walked over to the window. Looking in, I saw Mark asleep on the couch, still dressed in his khakis and white t-shirt. How he could sleep like that, I would never know. His glasses had fallen off his face slightly, the moonlight reflecting off of the lenses. I smiled.  
  
The window pushed open easily and I slipped inside. My bare feet landed softly on the dusty floor and I crept over to his side, sitting on the edge of the couch. His sand colored eyelashes rested softly on his cheeks and his lips were turned upward in a small smile. It sounds stupid and juvenile, but I hoped he was dreaming of me. I leaned forward, letting my lips brush against his. He stirred slightly, but didn't wake up. I sat there watching him sleep for a few more minutes before letting myself out the front door and going back down to Roger.  
  
I looked up at Mark, slightly embarrassed by my girlishness. I have a funny feeling that I would be one of those obnoxious girls that drove by the houses of the guys they had crushes on if I had a car and a different life.  
  
"You climbed the fire escape?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "You mean the ladder? Six floors?"  
  
"No, like climbed-climbed."  
  
"Seriously."  
  
I nodded, laughing. It was probably one of the most ridiculous things I had ever done.  
  
Mark grinned, grabbing me and hugging me to his chest. "I cannot believe you climbed the fire escape for me," he laughed, his chest shaking.  
  
"Me either," I murmured, a slow, happy smile spreading over me.  
  
"God, I love you," he said, kissing my temple gently. "For a while I almost had myself convinced otherwise,"  
  
"Me too," I replied, rubbing my cheek on his chest. It was really far too hot for cuddling, but at the moment I didn't really care. It felt so good to be with him. I snuggled into his shoulder and his hand began to trace lazy patterns on my back. We lay like that for a while, trying to ignore the great unspoken.  
  
"Mark?" I asked finally. "Will it always be like this? I mean...after?"  
  
He drew in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. "I don't know, Meems," he said honestly, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. I reached for his hand, pulling our entwined fingers close to my chest. "What do you want, Mimi?" he asked, his voice gentle. "You know that this is up to you."  
  
I sighed. "Mark, its not that simple,"  
  
"I know it isn't. But if it were...what would you do?"  
  
"I'd be with you," I replied. "We could leave the city and see something-anything."  
  
His fingers played in my hair and he idly wrapped a curl around one of his fingers. "Where would we go?"  
  
"Anywhere. It doesn't really matter,"  
  
He moved so that he could see my face. "Sure it does. Come on, Mimi. We've got the entire world to see. Where are we going?"  
  
"I've never left New York, Mark," I admitted, ashamed.  
  
He seemed shocked. "Never?"  
  
I shook my head. "My mom was on her own and there were five of us." I paused. "She always told me that all of the types of people out there in the world were in the city if you just looked hard enough." I smiled sadly. I hadn't seen my mother in over two years. I missed her advice; missed talking to her. But there was no way I could go home.   
  
Mark obviously didn't know what to say, so I spared him the awkwardness. "What do we do about Roger?" I wished we didn't have to spend every moment we were together worrying about Roger and what our next move should be. It didn't seem fair.  
  
"I don't know," Mark answered. "But we have to tell him. This isn't fair to any of us."  
  
"I know," I whispered, turning to face him. "I love you. No matter what happens. Remember that."  
  
He kissed the tip of my nose. "You too." He was quiet for a moment, then pulled himself away from me. "I'm going to run out for a few minutes, but I'll be back, okay?"  
"Okay," I murmured. Now was the perfect time for a nap, anyway. Maybe by the time I woke up Mark would be back. He kissed my cheek, then went to find his clothes. I barely heard the apartment door close before I was asleep.  
  
** 


	7. 7

A/N: 9/24/02. Wow, its been a while. My apologies to everyone, but life has been all kinds of hectic over here with school, moving, and other various things. My thanks to Lola, Becca, Dulcey, and as always, Lauren. You girls make life so much brighter. Thank you. :)  
  
Okay. Onto Chapter 7. Reviews make me write (and post) faster. Therefore, leave some. :)  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Enough said.  
  
  
**  
After the Fall  
Chapter 7  
**  
  
I knocked on Mimi's door, then walked right in. We'd always had a knock-and-walk policy while we were together, and it didn't seem that much had changed since then.   
  
I closed the door behind me and froze.  
  
Clothes were scattered around the room, hanging off of nearly every surface. One of Mimi's tank tops dangled off a lamp; a pair of her panties lay in a heap on the floor. The smell of sweat and sex still hung prominently in the air, taunting me. Yeah, it was pretty clear what had happened here. The room looked like it had been hit by a sexual tornado.  
  
Oh my God. I was going to kill someone. I just hoped I got a hold of whatever asshole was stupid enough to fuck Mimi while I was still around instead of Mimi herself.  
  
Her bedroom door was partially open. I roughly pushed my way in, immediately assaulted by the roar of the fan in the window and completely ignoring the fact that I was really no longer her boyfriend and therefore had very little claim to her. I shook my head, disgusted, and stopped dead in my tracks. Mimi was curled in a ball in the bed, the covers pushed down onto the floor. She was alone, wearing only a man's white t-shirt. Her hair spilled across the pillow. I could see a faint bruise on her neck. I was so pissed off; the prick had fucked her and then left.   
  
I tried not to shout at her. I resisted the urge to call her a whore.   
  
"What the *fuck* is going on here?"  
  
That wasn't much better, but at least I still had some semblance of control.  
  
Mimi jumped awake. She looked at me wild eyed, tousled, and clearly afraid.  
  
"Oh my God," she breathed. "Roger,"  
  
**  
  
I scrambled off of the bed, running over to his side. "Roger, I swear its not-"  
  
I stopped. I couldn't say it. It was *exactly* what he thought. Of course, he didn't expect it to be Mark, but he didn't know that yet.   
  
"Its not what, Mimi?" he growled, grabbing my wrist. He jerked my arm, dragging me into the living room. "Look around you. This kind of speaks for itself."  
  
I looked around me, immediately ashamed that Roger had seen the ugly, obvious evidence of our afternoon activities. I dropped my head to my chest, trying not to cry. His grip on my wrist hadn't let up and it was seriously starting to hurt.  
  
"I'm sorry," I whimpered, silently begging him to forgive me.   
  
He looked away, focusing in on the door. His grip tightened. "Is he coming back here?"  
  
I gasped. "Roger, you're hurting me."  
  
"As I remember, Mimi, you like it that way," he spat out. Thankfully, he dropped my wrist. "Is he coming back here?"  
  
I looked up at him, cradling my wrist. "I don't know."  
  
"So he was just some random fuck? I think he forgot something." Roger replied, kicking some clothes across the room.  
  
I cringed. As much as I wanted to answer Roger's questions, I felt the need to protect Mark. It was pretty much inevitable that Roger would find out, but I couldn't tolerate him believing that I would have an affair with just anybody. As disgusting as it sounds, if I'm going to cheat it's going to be for a good reason.  
  
I pulled myself up to my full 5'3" and took a deep breath. "I love him, Roger."  
  
He stopped his ranting and storming about. Roger's entire body deflated, crumpling in upon itself. His wide eyes implored me to be lying. I think he would have rather heard lies than truth, given the situation. But he had a right to know. He had to know.  
  
**  
  
Mimi stood in front of me wearing another man's shirt, covered in his sweat and God knows what else, and told me that she was in love with someone else.  
  
I now understood the meaning of the phrase 'wanting to die'.  
  
"How long?" I managed to get out, walking over to the couch and collapsing. I slumped forward and looked up at her. Please, say it was recently. Say that you loved me. Please say it wasn't all an act.  
  
She hesitated, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. "A month, maybe. Maybe less."  
  
I sighed, thankful. At least they hadn't been together the entire time we were together. I really think that would have killed me. But, a month? We broke up about a month ago. Well, I moved out about a month ago, anyway. And that morning she had been acting strangely. I had even been suspicious enough to go ask Mark about it.  
  
The pieces were starting to fall into place.  
  
"It was that night, wasn't it? The night we fought at the club. Before I moved out. You met him that night."  
  
Her eyes widened, but she stayed silent. Instead, she just nodded slowly.  
  
Oh my God.  
  
It was Mark. It had to be Mark.   
  
She was with Mark that night. When I saw them the next morning, they were both jumpy and uncomfortable. Mark hadn't talked to me much since I'd moved back in. And, Mark hadn't been home all afternoon.  
  
Well, fuck. I really didn't want to have to kill my supposed best friend and roommate.  
  
"Its Mark, isn't it?" My question was more of a formality than an actual inquiry. We both knew the answer.  
  
"Yes," she whispered, walking over to my side. "Roger, I'm so sorry. We never meant for anything to happen. We never wanted to hurt you."  
  
It's funny how two individual people can become a 'we' in a matter of seconds. It's even stranger still how much that change of pronouns can sting so badly and make the entire situation seem that much more surreal.  
  
I suppose I couldn't blame Mark for falling in love with Mimi. Not really, anyway. I'm mature enough to realize that you can't control your heart. But sleeping with her? Yeah, I could definitely blame him for that.  
  
And I was going to fucking kill him.  
  
At that moment, the man of the hour decided to walk in the front door. The door closed behind him and he smiled warmly at Mimi, completely not noticing me sitting on the couch. Disgusting. Mimi's mouth gaped open, staring at him, clearly afraid of what I might do.  
  
"Hi, Mark," I said. "Have a good afternoon?"  
  
**  
  
I stared at Roger. I glanced at Mimi, who shook her head slightly.   
  
He knew. Roger knew. Fuck.  
  
As naïve as it seems, I never thought this day would come. I just assumed Mimi and I would have our wonderful afternoons and Sundays in the park for the rest of time without having to worry about the messiness of dealing with her jealous ex-boyfriend/my best friend.  
  
Even the best of affairs are destined to end, I suppose.  
  
Roger leapt to his feet, quickly crossing the room. "You're lucky I don't kill you here," he gritted out. Before I realized what was going on, his fist was in my face. My glasses went flying across the room and I fell to the side, my hand instinctively coming up to my face. My eye throbbed maddeningly, my ears rang, and pain began to blossom in my jaw. I was going to have such a black eye.  
  
I deserved that.  
  
Roger glared at me. Mimi immediately jumped between the two of us.  
  
"Stop it!" she shouted, pushing Roger back away from me. Any other day, I'd be slightly offended to need the protection of the diminutive Mimi. Right now my jaw hurt like a motherfucker and I didn't really care.  
  
Roger backed away from the two of us, his anger dissolving. His eyes instinctively sought Mimi out. "My God, Mimi. What did I do? *What* did I do?"  
  
Mimi's hands dropped to her sides. "Nothing, baby," she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her head fell to her chest and I watched a single tear weave its way down her cheek.  
  
I had to get out of there.  
  
"Um, I'm going to-" I gestured towards the door. I really didn't want to leave them alone, but I knew that Roger wouldn't hurt Mimi. He didn't have it in him. God, I hope he didn't.  
  
Mimi nodded, not looking at me. Roger shot me a last parting glare through red-rimmed eyes.  
  
"For what its worth, Roger, I'm sorry. But don't blame Mimi for it," I don't know why I felt compelled to open my mouth. This sounded weak even to my own ears.  
  
"Oh, right. Like you seduced her," he spat, his voice thick from holding back tears. Roger was about to break down and it was not going to be pretty. I really didn't want to stick around for that one.  
  
I cringed, biting back any sort of comment. He was entitled to them, the way I figured. I couldn't think of a single way I could have hurt him more. Stepping out into the hallway, I closed the door and leaned back into it. The image of Mimi pressed against the other side of the door only hours earlier ran through my mind, torturing me; her legs wrapped around my waist as we kissed frantically. It wasn't like I set out to destroy the happiness of everyone around me, damnit. The heat of the afternoon had vanished and rain was pouring from the sky, cooling everything and leaving only cool, damp humidity and the smell of ozone in its place.  
  
I sunk to the floor, burying my face in my hands.   
  
**  
  
Reviews are the best thing since Adam Pascal. :) 


	8. 8

A/N (9/26/02): Yes, I realize this is probably the quickest update I have ever done. However, I have decided to be generous since my weekend is going to kick so much ass. So, without further ado, chapter 8. I figure there'll be about 10 chapters all total, and chapter 9 is half written already. So....enjoy the remainder of AtF. God knows I've loved writing it.   
  
Quick Warning: This chapter has some rather un-pretty subject matter. But so does this story in general. Have faith, and all will be resolved in the end.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
**  
After the Fall  
Chapter 8  
**  
  
The door closed behind Mark. I've never been so glad to see him go.  
  
Mimi turned away from me, finding her shorts on the floor by the kitchen. She pulled them on, apparently hoping to bring a bit of decency and normality to the situation. I couldn't think of a single thing that could class up this whole mess.  
  
My hand hurt; I couldn't believe I had hit Mark. Not that he hadn't deserved it-because he had-but because I've never hit Mark. Of course, I'd never had a reason to want to hurt him until today. I hoped that his jaw hurt twice as much as my hand did.   
  
The fan whirred in the background, becoming a maddening sort of white noise.   
  
"How did it happen, Mimi?"  
  
She looked up at me, startled. "Roger, I-"  
  
My throat felt tight, like I was about to burst into tears. Ignoring it, I strode over to Mimi, grabbing her by her upper arms. My voice was rough. My grip on her tightened as I jerked her close to me, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Tell me,"  
  
"Roger, stop," Mimi said, her voice shaking. I stepped closer, looking straight down into her eyes. Her eyes. I shoved her away; she stumbled a couple of steps, then looked up at me. I saw fear in her eyes. Fear and...hurt. Where the hell did she get off being hurt in this situation?   
  
"Tell me you don't love me."  
  
She narrowed her eyes, obviously trying to figure out of I was serious or not. It was amazing how much we had grown apart in the last month. We used to be able to practically complete each other's sentences. We could have been on opposite ends of the country for how much we understood each other at the moment. Mimi walked back over to my side, reaching a hand up to caress my cheek. I tried not to lean into her touch, but failed miserably. I was powerless. But maybe it wasn't over yet. Maybe Mark was a mistake, and maybe she'd realized that.  
  
"I'm sorry, Roger,"  
  
Maybe not.  
  
I grabbed her hand, and pushed her backward, then pulled her back to me. She stumbled again, her feet not quite under her. Her eyes flashed with terror, but I barely noticed as she twisted her body frantically, trying to pull out of my grasp. We both knew she was trapped. I was amazed at the sick sort of satisfaction I got out of this knowledge.  
  
"Roger, let me go," she whimpered, still struggling. Her eyes pleaded with me, but I ignored them. I walked us backwards towards the couch, both of her wrists pinned in my hand. She fought to get away, desperately kicking at me, her eyes wide in disbelief and panic.   
  
Disgusted, I threw her in the general direction of the couch, not especially caring where she landed. She screamed, then there was a crash as she landed on the coffee table. Bits of glass and wood exploded, showering down upon the floor as her body made contact. Then she was still, sprawled out amongst the destruction like an unwanted doll.  
  
Oh my God, what had I done?  
  
**  
  
I was halfway up the stairs when I heard it.  
  
A woman's scream, followed by a large crash.   
  
I'd never heard Mimi scream before.  
  
I ran back down the stairs and flung open the door to her apartment, sending it crashing back against the wall. Immediately, I spotted Mimi lying slumped against what was left of the coffee table, glass shattered and flung everywhere; scattered across the small room like bits of ice, marred only by small drops of crimson. It sparkled, catching the light from the open door and reminding me of Mimi's strange but endearing love of glitter. Other than a small stream of blood coming from various cuts all over her body, she was still. I ran over to her side, hearing nothing but the pounding of my heart and the sound of glass crunching beneath my feet. Sinking to my knees by her side, I didn't even bother to avoid the blood that was accumulating everywhere-on the splintered frame of the table, on the shards of glass, on my white shirt that still hung on her. I pushed her hair back behind her ear and felt for a pulse. She was fine. She would be fine, I corrected myself.  
  
I turned around. Roger stood in a corner on the other side of the room, one arm crossed tightly over his chest, the other trembling hand covering his mouth. His red-rimmed eyes were wide with shock, staring blankly at Mimi's unmoving form.   
  
"What in the hell did you do?" I asked, trying to keep my anger in check.   
  
He shook his head. "I-she-"  
  
"Get the fuck out of here,"  
  
His entire body was shaking at this point. I didn't care. "Mark, I-"  
  
"Get out!" I shouted.  
  
He started to move towards the door. I turned back to Mimi, feeling as if I was sinking into the floor. Her head was drooped onto her shoulder, her lips slightly parted. A small line of blood snaked its way out of the corner of her mouth.   
  
"Meems?" I asked, hearing my own voice crack. I reached a hand up to wipe a smear of blood off of her cheek, but she didn't respond. Pressing my check into her stomach, I began to cry. What in the hell had happened? I heard the door close behind Roger and picked myself up off of Mimi, then lifted her up onto the couch, brushing pieces of glass onto the floor before setting her down. I found a clean dishcloth in the kitchen and headed back into the living room to get some of the blood off of her, feeling physically sick at the sound of glass crunching beneath my feet. The apartment seemed to echo even more than usual.  
  
She moaned, squirming a little when I first started to clean the cuts. But she didn't wake up. I wondered if I should call for an ambulance...I hadn't wanted to, because that would just add to the money we owed but couldn't pay back. Something couldn't really be wrong with her, right? She'd just hit her head. She had a few bruises, a few cuts. But she'd be fine. Right?  
  
God, what if she wasn't?   
  
I began mechanically to clean up what was left of the table; dragging the bigger parts over into a corner where at least she wouldn't see them when she woke up and sweeping up the endless amount of glass. The pieces scraped along the wood floor, but it barely pierced my consciousness. All I could hear was Mimi's scream, then the crash.   
  
I paused, looking down at my hands. They were covered in blood. Her blood.  
  
Oh my God, what was wrong with me?   
  
I ran into the kitchen, turning on the hot water and reaching for the soap. I scrubbed my hands furiously for what felt like hours. My skin started to burn as the water got progressively hotter and hotter, but I didn't care; hot tears began to roll down my cheeks, swirling down the sink with the pink tinted bubbles. I fell to the floor, leaning back against the refrigerator and pulling my knees up to my chest, my wet hands leaving spots all over my khaki pants.  
  
Numbly, I pulled myself up to my feet and turned off the water. I dried my hands and stripped off my blood spotted shirt, dropping it on the floor without a care. I ignored the scratches from Mimi's nails that were on my chest and walked out into the living room. I sat on the edge of the couch, then pulled her into my lap, laying her head on my chest. My jaw throbbed in time with my pulse. Mimi's chest continued to rise and fall.   
  
Sighing, I wrapped my arms around her waist and waited.  
  
**   
  
Reviews make me happier than a whole room full of adoring handmaidens. 


	9. 9

Author's Notes: Well, its over. Done. Finished. I'm still pretty numb, actually. This thing was my baby. So...well, reviews would be highly appreciated. I miss AtF already.  
  
Thanks to: Lola, Becca, and Dulcey-three of the most supportive and wonderful people I've had the good fortune to run across. This story introduced me to them and the Rentfic community. You guys rock. For Lauren, for pushing me to move this story forward and see things in the characters that I hadn't noticed before. And for Chris, who unwittingly helped motivate me to finish this and for making me believe. Thank you.  
  
Huge thanks to anyone and everyone who has left a review along the way, especially those (Kelby!) who routinely reviewed. You guys made this journey worthwhile.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowed for nine chapters of pure insanity and angst.   
  
Its been fun, guys. Now, go enjoy what's left of it.   
  
  
**  
After the Fall  
Chapter 9  
**  
  
Thirty minutes later I'd packed a bag and was on my way to the bus station. Mimi's screams and the crash as her body hit the ground still echoed in my ears on a maddening, terrifying loop. The huge buildings of New York, which I'd always found so comforting, now seemed to be closing in on me. I had to get out. I had no home, no job, no friends. This day had become my worst fears realized. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't know what I was going to do when I got there. But at the moment, all of that was secondary. There were miles of dingy grey sidewalk in front of me, paving a seemingly endless but unavoidable path toward...whatever my destination may be.  
  
I've never hit a woman before. Sure, I'd been in my share of bar fights and that sort of thing, but never girls. That was where you drew the line between the sick, abusive fucks and guys who just got angry when they drank a bit too much. Today I'd crossed that line and there was no going back. I scribbled Mark a note and stuck it on the door. It was as much for Mimi as it was for him. Maybe more. But, really, what do you say? I was still angry with them, but I was more repulsed by my own actions.   
  
I finally arrived at the Greyhound office and walked up to the ticket counter, duffle bag slung over a shoulder and guitar in hand. The girl behind the counter looked up at me disinterestedly and popped her gum.  
  
"Where to?"  
  
"Where's the next bus heading?"  
  
She glanced down at a clipboard sitting in front of her, twisting a greasy piece of hair around her finger. "Nebraska."  
  
My face contorted into a grimace. Ugh. I wasn't quite that desperate. "How about the next one?"  
  
She glanced down again. "Virginia Beach. Leaves in twenty minutes."  
  
That works. "I'll take it." I handed over some cash from my meager stash I'd been saving for the past year. I'd been saving it to take Mimi out of the city for a day or two, ironically enough.   
  
Funny how life works out.  
  
  
**  
  
An hour of fitful sleep later, I disentangled myself from Mimi's arms and started for the door. I wasn't running away. I just...couldn't stay here. I had to walk, to move, to get out of her stifling apartment and get some air. Anything but sit still and wait for who knows what. She had woken up a couple of times, murmuring my name and nuzzling her nose on my bare chest. I hadn't known what to do. And, truth be told, I was worried about Roger and what he might do.   
  
Halfway up the stairs to the loft, I stopped. Roger was gone. I knew it. I didn't need to look into the empty loft or find some half-thought-out note taped to the door. I knew him well enough to know when he wasn't around. I couldn't feel him anymore. I sighed, looking down at my bare feet. I can't believe I walked up these stairs without shoes. It was like something Roger would do.  
  
Images flooded back to me. Roger, not quite two months ago, after the worst of Mimi's withdrawal. Huge black marks under each eye; bare, dirty feet up in the loft. The vacant gaze as he shifted his entire life's focus from himself and his guitar to Mimi. The look in his eyes as he told me he couldn't stand to watch her hurt any longer. He just couldn't keep up with her. Mimi moved in a different orbit-at a different pace. It was impossible to keep up with her most of the time; all you could hope to do was help her along and be there when she crashed.  
  
Numbly, I walked the rest of the way up to the loft, pulling the piece of yellow legal paper off of the door without a thought and sticking it into the back pocket of my pants. My mind and body felt disconnected. I felt drunk, stumbling through the loft without a thought in my head, going through the motions. I picked up a shirt off of the floor and pulled it on, then grabbed my camera off of the table. Looking up at the skylight, I noticed it was starting to rain, a soft smacking sound on the glass against the black sky. Perfect. I'd go film for a while since Mimi was sleeping, and that way I'd still be close enough to check on her now and then.   
  
As I ran back down the stairs, despite my newfound optimism, I couldn't help but think that the world was about to come crashing down around me.  
  
**  
  
I woke up, stretching experimentally and slowly flexing my arms and legs to make sure everything was still functioning. Sharp, jagged pains shot out all at once from about fifteen places and I moaned miserably. My eyes opened, and immediately I wondered where Mark had gone. He was here with me earlier. Right? Or had I been dreaming?  
  
I couldn't have been. Right?  
  
My entire body felt like one giant, throbbing bruise. It was a good thing I wasn't working at the club anymore, because I would have to take a few weeks off just to heal at this point. Roger had....  
  
I looked over at what was left of my old coffee table, lying in a shattered, splintered heap in the corner and my breath caught in my throat.   
  
Jesus. He could have killed me.  
I ran out of my apartment and stepped out into the street, rain pouring down onto me in sheets. My hair turned into a mass of wet, soggy curls and what little makeup I still was wearing began to run down my cheeks. Lovely.  
  
I looked around for Mark, spinning wildly, arms flying everywhere. "Mark!" I could barely hear my own voice over the rain and the traffic.  
  
Cars drove by, splashing through puddles in the road. My bare legs were coated in grimy, oily city water as I ran around the corner, hoping I'd find Mark.   
  
My legs buckled for a minute, and I grabbed onto the brick wall to steady myself. I froze, my mouth gaping open. Leaning up against the building out of the rain, with a foot propped against the wall and a cigarette in his hand, was Mark. I noticed the slight tremor in his hand as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth to take a drag, and the catch in his chest as he exhaled. His other hand ran itself through his sandy blonde hair then dropped heavily to his side. He threw the cigarette to the ground, watching as the downpour put it out.   
  
"Mark?" My voice was one of disbelief, of shock, of relief. He was okay. More importantly, he was still here.  
  
He spun around to face me, eyes wild. "What are you doing out here?"  
  
"I had to see if you were still here."  
  
"Mimi, you know I wouldn't just leave you," he said, scuffing one boot on the sidewalk.   
  
I paused, pursing my lips and still leaning unsteadily on the wall. "Roger's gone."  
  
He nodded, his head dropping to his chest. "I know."  
  
I walked over to him as well as I could and moved to hug him. He'd been through so much in the past few weeks. Both of us had. I couldn't help but think that if we could stay together through this that we would be all right. That everything would work itself out, Roger would come back and be okay with all of this, and that everyone would forgive each other and live happily ever after.  
  
Mark stepped back just out of my reach, bringing his arms up in a clear 'back off' gesture. I looked out at the rain, watching as it soaked everything, trying desperately to clean an irreparably dirty city.  
  
I never was one to believe in fairy tales.  
  
"Fine," I said. "Fine, if that's what you want, Mark."  
  
He sighed, clearly frustrated. "I don't know what I want."  
  
Great. Just fucking great. We go through all of this only to determine that we still don't know what we want. Well, then what in the hell are we doing here? Why are we wasting time and putting ourselves through this if we so clearly don't know what we want?  
  
"Well, I'm sorry about that, Mark," I snapped. "But I do know what I want. I want you. Because I love you, and because you make me happy. But if you're just that uncertain then maybe we shouldn't be-"  
  
"Mimi?"  
  
I looked up at him, irritated. "Yeah?"  
  
He grabbed my arm, pulling me towards him. I gasped, instantly trying to get away as a replay of the past few hours assailed me.  
  
"Let me--!" I broke off, kicking and trying to get out of his grasp.  
  
Mark dropped my arm immediately, his eyes wide and frightened as he backed away from me.  
  
I looked up at him, my gaze full of hurt and fear. I'd never been afraid of anyone before. Not like that. And certainly not of Mark.  
  
"My God, Mark. What did he do to me?"  
  
He took two steps toward me, reaching out and pulling me into a hug. His arms went around me gently, I imagine trying to show me that I would never be trapped with him, that I never had to fear what he might do. I sobbed into his chest.   
  
"His eyes," I choked out amongst sobs. "They were so cold. It was like it wasn't even Roger there. Like someone else had taken over his body for a few seconds."  
  
Mark shook his head, his chin brushing along my hair. "That was Roger, Mimi. Just not a Roger we've seen before. But it was definitely him."  
  
  
**  
  
  
I moved my hands to the side of her head, gently cupping her cheeks. My thumbs moved in small circles, brushing away her tears. She lifted her eyes to meet mine-full of desperation and sorrow. They were lacking their usual vivacity and life. It was as if Roger had physically knocked all of the fight out of her. She seemed almost empty, her eyes looking through me with a vacant expression I'd never seen on her before. It scared me, to say the very least.  
  
So, I did the only thing I could think of. I leaned down, softly capturing her lips with my own. There was no passion there. Simply reassurance. Reaffirmation. I wasn't going anywhere and I wanted her to know it.  
  
"I'm here, Meems," I whispered, breaking our kiss. "No matter what happens. We're together."  
  
Her breath caught in a half-sob. I leaned down and pressed my forehead against hers. She finally raised her eyes to mine, her gaze solemn. Her eyes held the first twinge of hope I'd seen in the last ten minutes. "Is that enough?"  
  
I paused. "It will be."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
I shook my head. "I don't. But I trust it."  
  
The statement hung in the air for several long moments, neither one of us sure what to say next. This entire day had been so surreal.  
  
I finally met her eyes again. Unlike earlier, she held my gaze. I smiled. "Lets go inside, Meems,"  
  
  
**  
  
We stayed up the entire night, just talking and sitting out on the fire escape, shoulder to shoulder like a couple of old friends. Mimi was wrapped up in a blanket; I'd pulled my knees up to my chest. It had been so long since we'd simply talked. Since that first night out on the fire escape after her fight with Roger, where we'd talked about everything and nothing and wondered why we hadn't done it sooner. Our entire relationship had become some frantic race against time, spending each moment we had wrapped in each other's arms and bodies for fear that this moment might be the last.  
  
We'd forgotten how to be friends.  
  
No matter where we went from here, we had begun with friendship. And that's how it would end.  
  
We'd been so busy embracing no day but today that we'd forgotten how to live. How to simply enjoy the moments. Life was more than a frantic scrambling for human connection. I wished it hadn't taken almost losing everything to come to this conclusion, but what mattered was that we were here now. We were together in every sense of the word.  
  
In the end, the little moments where we'd look at each other and smile knowingly; where I'd walk up behind her and snake my arms around her waist; waking up next to her in the morning and the first thing I my eyes see is her curly hair.... these were the moments that made life what it was. Anyone could exist. We wanted to live.  
  
"Mark, look!" Mimi gasped, pointing out beyond the skyline.  
  
The sky had begun to merge into a swirling mass of yellows, oranges and pinks; the brilliant glow seeped over the tops of the buildings, flooding into the streets and washing over everything in its path.  
  
Sunrise in New York. There wasn't anything quite like it.  
  
I reached for Mimi's hand, still cold, and squeezed it gently, entwining our fingers. She looked over at me and smiled, her eyes lighting up in girlish delight as she glanced from me, to the sky, and back again. She looked so beautiful-so young-the early morning light cast a pink glow over her face. Despite the bruises and cuts-no, with the bruises and cuts-she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. Fragile and scarred and wild and uninhibited and unbelievably strong.   
  
And she was here with me.  
  
It was everything.  
  
**  
  
End 'After the Fall'.  
  
Reviews are better than a brand new box of Kleenex. 


End file.
